


Damned Underground Monsters

by Silvarbelle



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Tremors
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, a reworking of tremors with stargate peeps, because reasons, but here we are!, i had so much fun writing this!, i started writing this in 2011, omgwtfbbq, things HAPPENED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvarbelle/pseuds/Silvarbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard had a choice: take his chances with a court martial in the good ol' USAF or GTFO, Stage Left.  He GTFO'd and his cousin, Colonel Jack O'Neill, was fed up for reasons of his own and also skedaddled.  The two of them hopped around the country for a while, doing odd jobs, until they settled in Perfection Valley, Nevada.  They met an odd cast of characters when they settled in the neglected little town - and that was just the HUMAN folk.  When something starts killing off the locals, it's up to John, Jack, and Rodney McKay (astrophysicist, engineer, and soon-to-be seismologist) to dig up the dirt on what's shaking down Perfection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damned Underground Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> My oldest and dearest friend FINALLY came to visit me in the summer of 2011. Not long after that, preparations were made to move and then a move happened. So, the story got delayed for a little while. But, as she and I are both Stargate and Tremors fans, we simply COULD NOT resist the urge to re-write Tremors with our favorites in tow. Yeah, Tremors 2 has also gotten a re-work (at least in theory). Might get it written, might not, but holy wow I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!

Barely even five in the morning and sun warmed John Sheppard’s skin perfectly as he pissed a stream of urine over the edge of the north-facing cliff outside of Perfection Valley.

He kept his gaze on the valley spread out below him. Being so high up, he could pretend, vaguely, that he was up in a cockpit, owning the sky.

Jesus God, but he missed flying.

Finishing his morning piss, John tucked himself back in and did up his pants. He did up his belt buckle as he ambled back over to the beat-up old Jeep J-series pickup truck he and his cousin had picked up months ago and that John had promptly named Ol’ Puddlejumper. Leaning one arm against the lukewarm, faded blue metal of the truck bed, John peered down at the lone man still tucked deep in a sleeping bag and seemingly dead to the world.

Only a tuft of silver hair was visible at the opening of the sleeping bag. It had surprised John to discover that the older man preferred to sleep entirely cocooned; he’d have thought a soldier with Jack’s years of Special Ops under his belt would not want to be so confined in case anything went wrong.

Then again, this entire road trip was one big learning experience after another about his cousin. Not that Jack made free with a bunch of info. Shit, getting information out of the older guy was like pulling teeth out of a cranky, non-tranquilized Grizzly. This didn’t surprise Sheppard a lot, as he was much the same way. He figured it was a family trait.

Jack certainly had recognized a few family traits in him. He’d called after John had gone home to his father. Jack and John hadn’t spent a lot of time together or talked to each other a lot, but something about the two of them had clicked when they’d met up at a big family party when John had been fourteen. Meeting his dashing, sardonic cousin had sparked John’s own desire to join the Air Force, especially after Jack had wrangled a guest flight for John in his F-14 Tomcat – something John was certain his father had never forgiven Jack for.

They’d lost touch with each other for a while after the loss of Jack’s son Charlie; something John considered understandable. He couldn’t really understand how Jack had kept his sanity. But, about seven months after Charlie’s death, he got a postcard from Jack that said simply _I’m fine_. John had known in an instant what it meant and simply sent a postcard back to Jack’s last known address that said _Okay._

That had been that until John’s little run-in with the brass, his return stateside, and his certainty that he was going to have to kill himself rather than face the unrelenting horror of being a corporate drone like his father wanted him to be. All of that, and then, Jack’s timely telephone call, letting him know his frequently disappearing cousin was alive and well and looking after him.

What had clinched it had been a final fight with his father. Patrick had demanded he join Sheppard Industries, settle down, and get a life and a wife. John’s retort that he’d rather have a _husband_ had resulted in Patrick telling him to be _normal_ or get the hell out.

John had gotten the hell out and Jack had tied his life to John’s, going wherever John’s whims took them. A few times, the going had gotten tough for John simply because he’d never so thoroughly been cut off from his father and brother before. While in the Air Force, and growing up as the odd duck that didn’t quite fit in, he’d known that his family was still _there_. Now, the separation was harsh, sharp. More times than he could count, John had picked up a phone to try calling home – to see if he was _really_ not wanted anymore. He’d picked up and hung up; he’d hung up in the middle of dialing; he’d hung up immediately after dialing; he’d hung up mid-ring. Each time, he got a little closer to completing the call before chickening out – terrified that he’d really and truly been thrown away.

But not thrown away entirely. Jack had come along with him, never once considering leaving John on his own. They’d moved around, going wherever and working odd jobs, until finally they’d settled in Perfection Valley. It was a tiny dust bunny of a town, boasting a population of twelve (including them), and they quickly became the go-to guys for any grunt work that needed doing.

For instance: they had been contracted by Miguel to build a barbed wire fence around ten acres of grazing pasture. Miguel had a small herd of cows he kept out in a small patch of the best brush patch, and the barbed wire wouldn’t do a thing to keep out coyotes, but for his own peace of mind he wanted the cows kept fenced in. The grazing pasture was located near the north-facing cliffs that led to an eighty-foot drop in height. He’d already lost a few of his cows to it, he figured, and the coyotes had come along to clean up behind because he hadn’t found a trace of them. So, to Jack and John he’d turned, and they’d spent the last week out in the desert; camping out in their truck, cooking over a campfire, and working their way around the cattle that showed absolutely no interest in anything except eating and sleeping.

Now, as John looked down on his snoring cousin, he couldn’t help but grin at how free he felt despite the discomfort of dust and sand in unmentionable places.

“Good morning, Mister O’Neill,” he said, speaking directly into Jack’s visible ear. “This is your wake-up call! Please move your ass.”

After all: another day was beginning in which they were held to no whims or responsibilities but the ones they made for themselves.

Jack, however, seemed completely uninterested as he continued snoring.

Frustrated, John straightened up and looked around. He needed to wake his cousin up, but he knew better than to touch the older man. Jack’s Special Ops training would kick in and John would be lucky if his only injury was a badly broken nose.

A cow mooed and John’s gaze locked onto it. Slowly, he began to smile as an idea formed in his head. It would get Jack awake _and_ it would be hilariously funny to watch.

He just had to do it.

Climbing up onto the wide rear bumper, John clung to the side of the truck and began jumping up and down, rocking the truck wildly.

“ _Stampeeeeeeede!_ ” he screamed, putting fear and horror into his voice. “Stampede, Jack! Get outta the way, _get outta the way!_ ”

The instant the truck began heaving and bucking, Jack had been awake. With the addition of John’s terrified screams, Jack blindly thrashed forward, trying to get himself free of his sleeping bag. He got only so far before he crawled right over the edge of the lowered tailgate and hit the ground hard.

Panting, thrashing, Jack wriggled halfway out of his bag and then reared up to assess the damage.

What he found were three cows, several yards away, staring at the stupid humans in idle curiosity. John’s laughter only clinched the realization that he’d been played.

“You stupid son of a….!” Jack grunted, and heaved himself up right. He stomped his way out of his sleeping bag as John hopped off the truck and sauntered over to him, smirking. “I was in a stampede once; 300-head, heading hell-bent for the horizon! Do you have _any idea_ how many bones got broke that day? I was damn near sex-changed at one point!”

John laughed as he tugged his favorite, beat-up, old black rodeo hat down over his brow and then shrugged on a sleeveless denim shirt. He began snapping the metal buttons together as he grinned at his cousin.

“Really, Jack?” he inquired. “Now, how many – exactly – cows are needed to officially become a stampede? Is it more than three? Do they have to match a minimum velocity before or are they just moseying really fast?”

Jack hurled his sleeping bag into the bed of the truck and then whirled to face the younger man. “I’m gonna run a stampede up your ass and then we’ll see who’s laughin’, Sheppard!”

“Kinky,” John shot back, still smirking. “Not to mention all kinds of illegal.”

“Nope. This is Nevada; marriage between cousins is allowed.”

“ _First_ cousins only and definitely not between same-sex cousins.”

Jack gave John a hard stare. “ _Why_ do you know that?”

John gave Jack a winsome smile. “Well, Jack, I always did have a thing for silver foxes.”

Jack made an aggrieved noise but he grinned at the younger man and aimed a friendly cuff at John’s hat.

What followed was a typical routine between them as they tried to figure out who had the single pack of cigarettes and the Zippo lighter they shared between them. This morning, it was Jack who had the lighter and John who had the cigarettes. Jack figured it out before John did and hauled himself up to sit on the tailgate with one leg crossed over the other at the knee, waiting for John to figure it out. When John did, he gave Jack a cross look, but nevertheless took a cigarette for himself and then held out the pack to Jack.

Within a few moments, the two of them had their cigarettes lit and were relaxing with the first few drags as they adjusted to being awake.

Then, Jack reached over for the campfire percolator and shook it at John. The remains of yesterday’s coffee sloshed in the mostly empty canister.

“No breakfast?” Jack taunted.

John scowled. “I did it yesterday – baloney and beans?”

Jack set the percolator down and shook his head. “Nope. _I_ did it yesterday. As I recall, it was a fine dish of eggs over-easy.”

“Like hell you say! I distinctly remember doing baloney and beans! It’s _your_ turn today!”

Jack glared and stuck his cigarette between his lips before he raised his fist in a threatening manner.

John rolled his eyes, stuck his cigarette in his mouth, and raised his fist as well.

Three shakes later, John lost with his “paper” going up against Jack’s “scissors.”

Giving a disgusted snort, John snatched the percolator off the truck and stomped away toward the campfire pit. As he went, he griped, “Yeah, well, if I ever get to be _your_ age, I expect my memory to be the first thing to go, too!”

“Ahhhh,” Jack crowed quietly and relaxed in the morning sunshine. “Nothing like coffee and sour grapes for breakfast beverages.”

“Smartass!”

Jack cackled.

 

*~*~*

 

John's head flicked around at the sound of an aggrieved cry. From beneath the brim of his battered black rodeo hat, he assessed Jack's condition. He didn't think there was anything truly wrong with the older man – not if the vicious flood of cursing and vigorous hand flapping was any indication – but it never hurt to double-check. Seeing the barbed wire coiling at Jack's feet, John smiled and gathered up the wire nails he'd gone to collect from the nearby nail bucket and went back to Jack's side.

"I ask ya, Shep," Jack groused as he picked the wire up again. "Is this any kind of work for intelligent guys?"

"Lemme find one and you can ask him," John replied, waiting as Jack pulled the barbed wire taut across the fence post sunk into the brown soil.

"Ha! Just 'cause you get to wield the hammer—"

"Because I _value_ my thumbs, fingers, and _face_ , thanks much!"

"—you think you're all kinds of grown up! I'm here to tell ya, kid, that just 'cause you got a hammer, that don't make you Thor!"

John squinted at Jack as he put the wire nail into place. "Seriously, Jack – have you been out in the sun too long? Do you need to take a nap?"

"Do I need to strangle you with this wire?" Jack growled back at him, brown eyes glaring death at him from beneath silvered eyebrows.

John snorted and ignored him as he lined up the hammer.

"Y'know, if we were really serious about earning some cold hard cash, we'd quit bein' hired hands—"

John glared at his cousin. " _Handymen_ , Jack! We are _handymen_."

"Yeah, 'cause that doesn't sound gay at all!"

John rolled his eyes and began hammering the nail into the post carefully.

"Anyway," Jack continued, "if we were really serious about money, we'd quit this... whatever... and go find some real employment."

"Didn't we say _no_ to real employment when we thumbed our collective nose at the Air Force?" John wanted to know. Then, swinging around, he gestured with the hammer at the nearby mountains. "Besides which: you want to _give up_ this personal freedom?"

" _What_ freedom?" Jack crabbed. "We still have ourselves hired out and the people that live around here get to tell us what to do and where to go!"

"Only if we let 'em." John went back to hammering.

"We do if we wanna _eat_ at some point."

"You and I could easily trap and snare any game we want to."

"Yeah? You go do that while I hunt down the wily Cheetos and a six-pack."

John couldn't help the grin and hastily muffled snort. He knew Jack preferred his creature comforts, but the older man had promised him they'd rough it for a while; for as long as it took John to get his head on straight, and John was gonna hold him to his word.

As he went to wait by the next fence post, he ignored Jack's irritated mutter and tipped his head up to let the hot Nevada sun warm his face.

Hours later, the cattle fencing complete, John was behind the wheel of Ol' Puddlejumper as he and Jack headed back toward town. Guiding the truck over uneven terrain was easy and he was in a good enough mood that, when they finally reached the local "highway," he gave the wheel an extra tug as he slung the pickup truck out onto the smooth dirt road.

Glancing over to his right, he saw Jack slouched in the passenger seat with his battered old clipboard that he’d brought with him from his office in Cheyenne Mountain on his lap. John carefully did not roll his eyes and instead asked, "What's on the agenda for today?"

"It's garbage day," Jack grunted.

John winced, already imagining the mountainous pile of the town dump. "Aw, man! Already? Shit." He thought quickly and then asked, "What's Nestor paying us?"

Jack thought about it, snorted, and said, "Fifty bucks – which is forty-seven more than we have."

"Not if we go to Bixby and liberate some savings."

"Cheater."

John sighed roughly and went silent for a few moments. Then, casually, he suggested, "Bert and Heather's place is closer. Let's do their linoleum today and do the garbage tomorrow."

Jack slapped his free hand against the clipboard. "Dammit, Sheppard! This is why you have to plan ahead! I know you're anti-routine right now, but sometimes you gotta have one – like now! Nestor isn't gonna be here tomorrow, so we have to do the damned garbage today. Ya get me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get ya – don't bite my friggin' head off!"

"I will if it means I'm not getting paid anytime soon. We don't dig today; we don't get paid today – simple as that! For a fighter pilot, you sure as fuck don't look ahead all that much. Here it is Monday and I'm already thinking of Wednesday!" Jack glared at him, noting the sour resentment tightening the right corners of John's eye and mouth. He glanced at his clipboard. "It is Monday, right?"

The two men went silent after that flare-up. Their tempers were already hot enough; no need to fan the flames higher. The rough living was beginning to get to both of them, but John wasn't ready to pack it in just yet – or so he kept telling himself.

Leaning forward a bit, he squinted as a dark splotch out on the Nevada plain caught his attention.

"Hey," he said, catching Jack's attention as well, "who the hell is that? That's not... uh... what's-his-name? The grad student?"

Jack craned his neck to peer at the now-discernible shape of a pickup truck and someone beside it. "Nope; he graduated. I think that's the new one."

John sat up a little straighter with a grin. "New one? That's supposed to be a girl!"

"What—? Jesus Christ, Sheppard!"

John laughed at Jack's startled, outraged yowl as he slung the truck over the dirt ridge that delineated the roadway, sending Ol' Puddlejumper bouncing and jouncing across the rough terrain.

As the truck was on approach toward its directed target, John lifted one hand from the wheel and began ticking off points on his fingers.

"You _will have_ ," he muttered at the unidentified figure ahead of him, "long blonde hair, big green eyes, world-class breasts, ass that _won't_ quit, and legs that go _allllll_ the way up!"

John slammed on the brakes and Ol' Puddlejumper skidded to a halt in a shower of dust, dirt, and small rocks. When the dust cleared, the smile fell from his face at the sight of a very male figure twisted away from them in a defensive posture, arms over his head.

Jack made a noncommittal noise and said calmly, "Well... one out of five ain't bad."

John gave Jack a glare even as the outraged earth scientist stormed over to Jack's side of the truck.

"Are you _insane?!_ " the man bellowed. "Driving up on someone like that! You'd have killed me if your brakes had failed – not to mention damaged my equipment!"

"Not getting anywhere near your equipment, Doc," John shot back with a lazy grin.

Blue eyes as bright and hot as the sky locked onto John and glared death and mutilation at him.

Jack glanced at John with a smile playing about his mouth, but for the moment, focused on the irate scientist.

"Hey, sorry about that," Jack said. "He's been out in the sun a little too long today."

The stocky, broad-shouldered man switched his glare to Jack. "If he requires adult supervision, shouldn't you qualify?"

"Hey! Just 'cause there's snow on the roof doesn't mean the furnace ain't stoked!"

The scientist rolled his eyes. "God save me from hicks."

John hastily muffled the snigger that comment pulled from him – but not fast enough to escape a death glare from Jack.

The man standing by the truck sighed and rubbed at his forehead, his long fingers pushing up the brim of his sun hat. John noticed the smear of sun block left behind on the man's wrist, but given that it was gooped in a thick layer over the entirety of the man's pointy nose, that probably couldn't be avoided.

"Rodney," the man abruptly said, reaching his hand through Jack's window. "Rodney McKay; PhD, PhD, and almost PhD."

“I thought some chick named Meredith was supposed to be up here,” Jack mused.

McKay scowled. “My name _is_ Meredith; a family name, used for males and females. I happen to prefer Rodney.”

Jack and John glanced at each other. John then glanced to _Meredith_ , ready to make a teasing remark, but something in the set of the man’s shoulders and expression told him it would only end badly.

He kept his mouth shut.

Jack took the opportunity to shake Rodney’s hand with a smile reserved for military superiors and politicians. "Geography, yeah?"

" _Geology_ ," John corrected, seeing McKay begin to frown.

" _Seismology_ , actually," McKay corrected John through clenched teeth. "Earthquakes. I'm... I apologize for my rude behavior. I'm a little frustrated with the results I've been getting so far and... well. I'm sorry."

"No problem, buddy," John replied, and smiled a little at the way those bright blue eyes lasered him to pieces right there.

McKay sighed again a moment later, flicked his gaze at the lettering stenciled on the passenger door, and then looked back at the two men in the truck.

"You must be Jack and John," he suggested. "I've heard a lot about you two."

Jack tried on a charming grin. "We deny everything!"

The expression on Rodney's face suggested Jack had missed 'charming' by a canyon-sized margin.

"Something wrong, Doc?" John prompted, purposefully taking McKay's attention off of Jack.

McKay frowned, and then turned his head to look over at his camp where metal boxes sat in the dirt. In doing so, John discovered what ridiculously long and very pretty eyelashes Rodney McKay possessed. He felt his gut turn over. He'd always been a sucker for long, pretty eyelashes.

Rodney turned his attention back to Jack and John. "I'm not sure. Let me ask you: do you know of anybody doing any drilling or blasting or any such activities on the valley floor?"

John laughed at the very thought. He winced when McKay's eyes flared wide at the sound that emerged from his mouth. John quickly stopped laughing. He'd been told the noise sounded like gravel in a gristmill; he didn't need to see McKay's displeasure as added censure.

"Around here?" he said, answering McKay's question. "No way, Doc."

Rodney frowned. "Hmmm. You see, I'm supposed to monitor the seismometers." He pointed at the metal boxes sitting nearby. "They measure vibrations in the ground."

"By measuring the motion of the seismic waves generated by such events as earthquakes, volcanoes, and other sources,” John spoke, his voice bland and tonal in recitation of remembered facts. “The seismometers map the interior of the Earth by following the wave patterns.”

Both Jack and Rodney stared at him in surprise.

He smiled back.

"Pre—yes; precisely," McKay agreed after a few moments' hesitation. "Ahh... the reason I ask is because I've been getting some rather strange readings. The school has had these seismometers up here for three years, but, frankly, nothing like this has ever been recorded."

"You got a CB with you?" Jack asked.

"No – I thought I'd trundle out into the middle of the desert all by myself and hope someone eventually comes across my desiccated corpse that is there only because I refused to take a short-range communication device along with me," McKay snapped irritably.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Just askin', McKay."

"Whatever for?"

"Thought we could ask around in town; see if anybody's heard anything, and then get the info back to you – if that's alright." Jack's tone was sugary sweet. John figured they should leave within the next thirty seconds because he knew that tone. McKay was close to being fed a knuckle sandwich.

Still, John was surprised when McKay turned away to look over his camp and Jack turned to face him while making obvious head-jerk motions in McKay's direction while bouncing his eyebrows.

"I hope they aren't broken," Rodney was muttering. "I'd have to bag the entire semester and that wouldn't do." He sighed and turned back to face them, Jack quickly ceasing his motions. "As for the offer... um... yes. Thank you. That's quite kind of you."

The politesse and the clipped accent made John grin as he asked, "What part of Canada are you from?"

McKay blinked. "You can tell? Most Americans can't."

"I'm a special kind of American – I paid attention in school during Geography."

"Ah, one of the five who have done so in the history of the American school system," McKay replied, his tone dry but with a mischievous smile curing the corners of his slanted mouth.

John's grin widened even as he felt his heart thump harder in his chest. He wanted to scream and flee for the nearest border – McKay frightened him _that_ much.

"Something like that," he replied, keeping his tone level through sheer determination.

"I'm from Fort McMurray, in Northern Alberta," Rodney replied, and stepped back with a faint smile. "Sorry to bother you, Jack, John. Thank you for your time and trouble."

John put Ol' Puddlejumper into gear as Jack said, "No problem. Hope you get it all sorted out!" and with that, they were gone back toward the dirt road, leaving McKay to cough and wave dust away from his face.

"Is it just me," Jack said as the truck bounced over the pitted ground, "or did that final polite remark sound an awful lot like 'Go away, you inbred ass-monkey, before I kill you with my brain'?"

"Wasn't just you," John muttered, and drove Ol' Puddlejumper out onto the smooth road, setting them on course for Perfection.

Neither man said anything for several minutes on the drive into town. Eventually, Jack couldn't keep a lid on it and offered, "Y'know, if you wanted, we could take a look at those, uh... seismo-thingies for him. If you want."

John shot his cousin a 'I know what you're up to' look and growled, "What the hell do a couple of flyboys like us know about _seismometer maintenance?_ "

"Not a damn thing," Jack replied, breezy with nonchalance. "But it sure might be a slick way to get to know him."

John's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "There's no need to get to know him."

"Ha!"

"Dammit, Jack—!"

"Don't you 'dammit' me, Sheppard! Even if I don't outrank you anymore, I'm still older! Snow on the roof, remember?"

John growled.

Jack snorted. "I don't know what you're trying to prove with that... that... that _ridiculous_ laundry list of feminine attributes. You hide behind that; won't look at _anyone_ if they don't match that fucking list from top to bottom!"

"So I like a hot blonde! So what?"

"Hot, _dumb_ blondes – and each one dumber than my hind end!"

"Well, _that_ doesn't take much!"

"Watch it, Junior!"

John glared at the older man. Jack curled his lip and pointed at the sun visor flipped up against the truck's ceiling by John's head.

"You can't seriously tell me," he snapped, "that you want that Bobby Lynn Dexter twerp when you could have—"

John pulled the visor down with a rough jerk to show pictures of a beautiful blonde woman; his most recent ex-girlfriend. "Tammy Lynn Baxter!"

Jack's lip curled further. "Ha! The hell does it matter? They're all dead weight! They break a nail and have a fucking panic attack!"

"In case you didn't notice, McKay had a panic attack when we showed up!"

"You drove a _truck_ straight _at_ him! I'm impressed, actually. I think if it'd been me on the receiving end, I'd have just crapped my pants and died on the spot!"

John snorted laughter.

Jack grinned and shook his head. "Seriously, John – dump the bimbos, will ya? Just let the whole damn ideal go. They make my skin crawl."

John smirked at him. "What can I say? I'm a victim of circumstance."

The withering glare from tired brown eyes soured the grin right off John's face.

"Thought you called it your pecker," Jack said, his tone dry as the desert around them.

And that was that.

 

*~*~*

 

Upon arrival in town – such as the one general store and scattered houses and trailers could be called – John parked Ol’ Puddlejumper in front of Chang’s store and the two weary men got out, slapping the dust off themselves.

A few feet away, the town’s resident bored teenager and _huge_ pain in the ass, Melvin Plug, was bouncing his basketball of the hood of Nestor Cunningham’s beat-up old hatchback. His parents were, as usual, off on a road trip to Las Vegas in the hopes of striking it rich and getting the hell _out_ of Perfection.

It was the hopes of everyone else in Perfection that they’d strike it rich and get out – taking Melvin with them, since the two irresponsible twits routinely left their son behind for the townsfolk to look after and be annoyed by.

“Hey, Pizza-face!” Jack called out; never one to miss an opportunity to pick on the weaker members of the herd.

Melvin utterly ignored him and kept bouncing his basketball off of Nestor’s car.

As Jack headed on into Chang’s, John turned and yelled, “Hey, Melvin! _Melvin!_ ” When the kid turned to look at him with disdain, he added, “Touch that truck and I’m kickin’ your ass up between your shoulder-blades – got it?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Melvin grunted. “I’m _so_ scared.”

“You’re damned right you are,” John growled, and had the pleasure of seeing Melvin turn away as if bored of him… but he knew better.

Inside, Jack was pulling a six-pack of beer from the lone public refrigerator in the place while Chang talked with Bert and Heather Gummer. Heather was loading canned goods into a box while Bert earnestly discussed ammunition with Walter Chang.

“These are hollow points,” Bert said, shaking the brick of ammo, “but not _hydro-shock_ hollow points!”

Walter shrugged. “I thought bullets were bullets.” He smiled at Jack and John, showing yellow and crooked teeth. “Hey, guys! What’s happening?”

“We ran into that new dirt-scientist student,” Jack said, “that Robert fella.”

“ _Rodney_ ,” John corrected.

Heather frowned. “I thought it was supposed to be a girl?”

“He’s got an old-fashioned first name; prefers Rodney,” John reported. “Anyway, he’s having trouble with his seismo-thingies.”

“’Thingies’,” Jack muttered. “Nice to know all that education paid off.”

“Just because I’m noun-impaired…”

Jack smirked at him.

“You know,” Bert said, smirking himself, “those college kids turn up oil or uranium or something out there…? Next thing you know, the Feds’ll be at our doors. ‘Sorry, gotta go: eminent domain.’”

Heather patted Bert’s arm condescendingly and said, “Down, honey – down.”

“Yeah, Bert,” Jack agreed, grinning. “The way you fret about things, you’ll stroke out before you get a chance to survive World War Three.”

“We’ll see,” Bert retorted, but the subtle look of excitement at the thought of war made him look happy.

Abruptly, the freezer set along the back wall began shrieking and wheezing, shuddering hard enough to make the nearest shelves and the stuff on them vibrate.

“Guys!” Walter shouted to Jack and John, and pointed at the freezer. “Listen! What ya think: bearing going out?”

John started to walk over. “Well, could be—“

Jack caught his shoulder and hauled him back. “Later, Chang – got a schedule to keep.”

Jack walked out and John snorted. He grinned at the others and said, “Yeah, see, we plan ahead: that way, we don’t do anything right now. Jack explained it to me!”

A dusty Nerf toy from the souvenir shelves by the front door thwapped against the back of John’s head, knocking his rodeo hat off. He caught the hat, fumbling, and turned to glare at his cousin.

“C’mon, smart-ass!” Jack crowed, and stepped out onto the wooden walk made of old railroad ties.

John sighed and put his hat back on. He touched his fingers to the brim, tugging on it in polite farewell, and then turned to mosey after O’Neill.

“’Cousins’, my ass,” Bert muttered. “Those two are queer and no mistake.”

“You only have to worry if they’re after _your_ backside, Bert,” Heather sighed.

“Yeah, right,” Walter chortled, earning a sharp glare from Bert.

 

*~*~*~*

 

John lucked out being the one to drive the Caterpillar front-loader to shove humongous piles of garbage around the dump. His claustrophobia only crept up on him when he was stuck on the ground and surrounded by towering things – one of the reasons he avoided densely packed forests. The other reason he avoided forests was bugs, and it was also another reason to be up on the Cat. He considered the lost man-points well worth the price of Jack’s hysterical laughter after his impromptu but heartfelt “Oh, God, they’re touching me, _ewwwwwww!_ ” dance when he’d picked up a half-rotted bag of garbage and a herd of roaches had scattered. So _what_ if Jack had damn near pissed himself laughing? At least John got to be the one driving a big ol’ machine around.

From his lofty perch atop the Cat, shifting gears and shoving garbage around, John got to peer over the hem of the bandanna he had tied around his mouth and nose at Jack. The older man was hauling by hand the bags of garbage that had escaped the Cat’s bucket. Even as John watched, Jack bent to pick up a bag – only for it to rip coming up from the ground, leaving fly-swarmed nasty stuff behind.

John grimaced in sympathy... but he refused to get down off the Cat, even after Jack turned a pitiful look his way. He got a vigorous middle finger for his lack of manners. Snickering, he kept driving.

An hour or so later, both men wearily headed for their chosen "break room" after Jack signaled the need for a rest. John flopped down on a beat-up old armchair, the springs creaking and cracking loudly and dust rising from the seat cushion. He shifted uncomfortably as a spring popped and dug up against his tailbone. He sighed and stretched his legs out to rest atop a rusted old toilet, his boots dropping clots of dirt on the white lid. Jack dropped into the equally ruined old sofa sitting perpendicular to his left, wiping at his face with a bandanna.

"Cocktail?" John offered, and Jack nodded. Shifting forward, John brought his feet down so he could raise the lid of the toilet, reaching in to pull a can of beer from the half-melted ice resting inside. He tossed the can to Jack, took one for himself, and settled back again.

"Well," John said, sighing as he relaxed into the horrible chair, "I'll tell you: nobody handles garbage better than we do."

Jack snorted. "Thank you, USAF."

John grinned, but the smile didn't stay long. He took another drink of beer, looked around, and grimaced. "Aw, hell, Jack: who are we tryin' to fool? This is _low_."

"As opposite from the sky as a pilot can get," Jack agreed.

John ignored him. "We have _got_ to set our sights a little higher."

"Oh, yeah? How d'ya mean, Shep?"

"Like... maybe we should be movin' on."

Jack fixed a shrewd gaze on his younger cousin. "Really." He watched John bite his lower lip. "You weren't so eager to move on until _Meredith_ and _his_ world-class ass stood up."

"It's 'world-class breasts' and 'ass that won't quit', thanks much," John grumbled back.

"Doesn't matter; _he_ has one of 'em and it's the 'he' part that—“

"I don't wanna discuss this!"

"Well, that's just too damn bad, isn't it? I'm fine with moving on to greener pastures – hopefully literally – but not because you're _running away_ from what you might _really_ want."

"Want? Some snarky little scientist—“

“—with a _fabulous_ ass—“

John broke off in surprise. He closed one eye and squinted at Jack with the other. Jack looked back with an expression that indicated he kept company with angels.

John snorted. "Look, the point is: I don't even know the guy and, hey, he's a _guy_."

"Yeah, and? You're not USAF property anymore, John-boy. Anyone wants to give you shit about your preferences, you can kick their asses and walk away. No one can discharge you, no one can arrest you for being gay—“

" _Bi_ , okay? I'm bisexual! And I'm _done_ talking about this, Jack!"

Jack snorted. "Fine – but I'm not packing up until a better, more _honest_ reason comes along."

"Yeah, well, speaking of shit: aren't we supposed to do the Plug trailer's septic tank next?"

" _Real_ subtle, John-boy."

John rolled his eyes and then drained his beer in three hard swallows.

 

*~*~*~*

 

“Don’t forget the TV!” John mumbled around the magazine clamped between his teeth. He carried an upright vacuum cleaner in one hand while settling his hat atop his head with the other as he kicked open the door and escaped the old trailer he and Jack had lived in.

_Had_ was now the key word. He’d been thinking he could tough out a few more weeks in Perfection while he pondered ideas of where he and Jack could go next. But after getting doused in shit from the septic tank attached to Melvin’s trailer and having to listen to the little bastard’s taunting laughter, John had taken it as a sign from a higher power that it was time to _go_.

Freshly showered and dressed, with the bed of the truck packed with most of their belongings, John was ready to run.

Jack came out of the trailer after him, their small 17-inch television cradled in his arms. “What’re you bringing that old vacuum cleaner for?”

John gave him an affronted stare. “I _like_ this vacuum cleaner.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell, since you never _use_ it.”

“Neither do you!”

“Yeah? So?”

“ _So_ , it’s good for parts! And wherever we end up, we might just be able to hire a maid – had you considered that?”

Jack stuffed the TV into a pile of garbage bags containing clothes and yanked open the driver’s side door as he snapped, “Get in the truck!”

Without another word, John hopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

Jack backed Ol’ Puddlejumper out of the sandy driveway, slowing just long enough to take the old metal sign that read J. O’NEILL and J. SHEPPARD off the chicken wire fence that edged their small piece of property. He tossed it to the floor of the truck beneath John’s feet, put the truck in gear, and drove them away from the longest home they’d had yet since leaving the Air Force.

As they rolled through town, they passed the Sterngood place – home to Nancy Sterngood and her little girl Mindy; two blondes that were always able to keep themselves entertained. Nancy was a New Age hippie that earned a living making pottery while Mindy spent most of her time listening to music on an old Walkman her mother had found in a thrift shop and hopping up and down the road on her pogostick, trying to set a world record of hops. In fact, she was hopping down the road as Ol’ Puddlejumper went past, giving her a wide berth.

When Jack and John rolled past, Nancy leaped up from the stool at her pottery wheel and flagged them down. “Guys! Hey, guys, _wait!_ ”

Jack obediently stopped the truck beside her, leaving Nancy standing directly at John’s window.

“Sorry, Nancy,” John reported, “we’re not delivering firewood anymore. We’re out of here – permanently.”

“Oh, sure,” Nancy laughed, and then pulled her oversized sunglasses from her face and stared at the back of their truck in shock. “Oh, my God – you really _are!_ ”

At that moment, Mindy hopped up beside the truck. Jack, having an intense fondness for children, grinned and leaned over John as he called out, “Hey, Mindy! What’s the count?”

“Six-hunnert-an’-forty!” she yelped, and kept going.

Jack laughed and sat back.

Nancy grinned at her daughter before turning her attention back to the men in the truck. “Guys, listen: I don’t need firewood. I have this big order to fill and I have to build my new pottery kiln.” When they looked uncomfortable, she added: “C’mon, it’ll be _at least_ a month’s work.”

Jack and John glanced at each other, but both men knew they’d rather get going than not.

“I’ll throw in free lunches,” Nancy bargained. She smiled and added in a sing-song tone: “And beer…!”

Jack’s and John’s eyes widened as they perked up at the sound of free food and beer.

They looked at each other again, silently conferring.

 

*~*~*

 

Ol’ Puddlejumper was a few miles outside of Perfection proper before elation set in.

It began with a grinding chuckle from John. Jack looked over; saw the younger man’s mouth stretching wide in a wild grin even as Sheppard’s green eyes squeezed shut. The sight made him start snickering. The noise of his laughter caught John’s attention, making him open his eyes.

And then, the shrieking gleeful catcalls began as their euphoria burst wide open.

“I can’t believe we said no to _free beer!_ ” John hollered, still grinning like a madman.

“We did it! We did it! We faced temptation and _did not bend_ , goddamn, Praise the Lord!” Jack shouted. He clutched the steering wheel tightly as he laughed again.

John smirked at him. “Since when do _you_ believe in a higher power?”

“No atheists in foxholes, Sheppard, you know that!”

“Maybe, maybe not. What I _do_ know is this: there is nothing – and I _mean_ nothing – between us and civilization but nothing.”

The two of them joined hands in a manly handclasp of victory.

“ _Yeah!!!_ ”

They’d gone another couple of miles down the dirt road, still crowing about successfully getting out of Perfection, when they rode up on one of the valley’s electrical towers. Both of them spotted the lone person perched high up near the top of the tower.

“Man, that’s one job I’d never do,” Jack commented, grimacing. “Working around electricity? No, thank you. I know this one sergeant who’s a mechanic and maintenance kind of guy; works with electrical equipment a lot. He can do the Fester lightbulb trick.”

John snorted, amused, but then frowned. “Hey, hold up, Jack – that’s Edgar Deems.”

“Aw, come on.”

“No, really. He only wears that one damn jacket.”

Jack sighed and pulled the truck over to park beside the electrical tower. As much as he was ready to leave Perfection, he couldn’t leave an old and usually drunk man in a dangerous situation.

Both men climbed out of the truck, John strolling around to join Jack on his side as they both looked up at the man sitting wrapped around one of the support struts.

“Man-oh-man, he sure must have been drunk this time,” Jack sighed, looking up with his hand shading his eyes. “Edgar! Get your ass down here, you old fart!”

Edgar didn’t even flinch.

“Shit,” Jack said on another sigh. He glanced over at John. “We can’t leave him up there.”

“So let’s get on the horn and call Old Fred to—“

“Sheppard! Really? Make another old man climb up after this one?”

“No, just have him on hand ‘cause they’re friends!” John scowled. “Seriously, Colonel – what kind of an asshole do you take me for that I’d do that to an old codger?”

Jack raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Okay, okay; don’t get your panties in a wad, Princess.”

John flipped the bird at the older man, which only made Jack laugh.

“So, who’s gonna go up and get him?” O’Neill eventually asked.

“You’re the one that wants him down bad enough,” John countered.

“Trick knee’s acting up.”

“Convenient, that.”

Jack growled and held up his clenched fist. John scowled, but held his up as well and, to his complete non-surprise, lost the round of rock-paper-scissors to O’Neill.

“Thank you, Edgar,” John griped, and headed for the bottom rung of the tower leg Edgar had chosen to perch on.

With a grunt, he began climbing up the electrical tower, his long limbs reaching and pulling in strong and steady rhythm.

“You so owe me for this, you old boozehound,” John muttered as he climbed up toward the old man. “Drink if you wanna, but I draw the line when it comes to inconveniencing everybody else. One of these days, you’ll have to get your ass on a wagon and park it there! Isn’t like I don’t have anything better to do with my life than climb up towers after old drunk bastards…”

John froze, his voice trailing off into a squeak as he caught sight of Edgar’s face. The dry flesh was pulled tight across sharp cheekbones, dipping into sunken eye sockets. Flies buzzed around the chapped, gaping lips and the body was held up only by the belt that Edgar had wrapped around himself and the metal strut he’d been clinging to. The Winchester rifle he carried everywhere with him lay propped along one bony hip, tucked beneath an equally bony arm.

"Jesus!" Sheppard shouted, and somehow managed to not fall off the tower in his surprise.

"What?" Jack called up. "John?"

"He's dead!"

" _What?_ "

John clenched his teeth for a moment, and then yelled, "He's _dead_ , Jack! Man's bone-dry!"

There was silence for a moment or two, and then Jack said precisely what John had been hoping not to hear, "Well, we can't leave him there! It ain't right!"

"Jack, can't we send for a coroner to do this?"

"You can't tell _me_ you're squeamish about dead bodies, Sheppard!"

"I am when I didn't make 'em!"

"Screw that! You're already up there and the worst is over for Edgar. Just... does he have his Winchester up there? I don't see it down here."

"Yeah, it's up here!"

"Great! Secure the weapon. While you're doing that, I'll radio Doc Wallace and let him know we're bringing Edgar in."

John clenched his teeth and got to work. He took the Winchester, set it between his own thighs with the barrel pointing _down_ at the ground, thank you very much, and removed his own belt with one hand. Looping his arms around the metal tower strut, he managed to fashion a serviceable noose around the rifle butt and then formed a crude bandolier with the rest of the belt, but it was too short. He eyed Edgar's belt, shrugged, and quickly unfastened the worn leather strap. Edgar's body shifted a little, but remained slumped against the tower. With the extra material, the bandolier could now easily slide over his shoulders and chest. No way was he leaving a loaded rifle free to swing around unfettered.

"Okay!" Jack called up to him just as he finished his task. "Doc Wallace says to get him down and bring him in."

"No, really? Thought we could pull a ‘ _Weekend at Bernie's_ ’!"

"Just do it, smart-ass!"

"Yeah, yeah; weapon secure, already!"

"Okay, now carefully—"

John put his hand firmly against Edgar's chest and shoved.

Four seconds later, the desiccated old corpse hit the dry, dusty ground with a solid _whump!_

Jack leaped aside, startled half out of his mind as Edgar's body slammed into the ground in front of him. He stared at the crumpled old man incredulously, and then glared up at John.

"Dammit, Sheppard!"

 

*~*~*

 

“Was it a heart attack, Doc?”

Jim Wallace carefully climbed down from the bed of Ol’ Puddlejumper. Jack’s and John’s things had been rearranged to provide space for the body, but their belongings were still there. He winced as something cracked under his boot, but neither man looked upset as they reached up to provide helping hands down. 

“No,” Jim grunted as his feet hit the sandy floor. He nodded his thanks to the two men and shrugged his shoulders in a stretch. He pulled off the latex gloves he’d donned for the cursory examination. “He died of dehydration.”

Jack and John cut quick glances at each other, and then refocused on Jim.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” John argued. “That takes a couple of days.”

“Possibly even three or four, depending on how much water he already had in him.”

Jack snorted. “Edgar didn’t drink water if he could help it, Doc – you know that.”

Jim sighed and nodded. “I know. If I had to guess, he’s been up that tower for about three days. Did either of you see any sign of Josephine?”

John shook his head while Jack pursed his mouth and said, “No; that smelly old donkey of his wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Kind of odd, since she goes where he goes – and he’d never leave her behind. He’d have found a way to haul her up the tower with him.”

“How do you mean, Jack?” asked Megan, the doctor’s wife and assistant.

“I’m saying something scared him up that tower – badly enough that he took his rifle and left Josephine to it.”

The four of them stood in silence, pondering that bit of information for a few moments. Finally, Jack sighed and stepped forward to grab hold of one of Edgar’s booted feet. John moved to help him and together they unloaded Edgar’s body from the bed of their truck. They carried the old man to a place near the Wallace homestead that Jim directed them to and recovered him with a tattered old tarp. Jim assured them that he’d see to it that Edgar was taken care of. He and Megan wished them well, and with that, Jack and John were back on the road out of Perfection.

They both studiously avoided looking at the electrical tower as they passed by it. Jack pressed down a little harder on the gas pedal without saying a word, leaving the tower behind in a thin cloud of dust.

They were both silent for a little while as they put miles between them and Perfection. Finally, John couldn't take it anymore and he asked, "Do you suppose he was _wanted_ to die?"

Jack shook his head. "No. Someone chased him up there."

"You mean someone without the good sense to be scared of a Winchester rifle?" John argued. "Then... what? Camped out and waited for him to die without leaving a sign of having been there?"

"How the hell should I know? Look: for Edgar to have _chosen_ to suicide like that – by dehydration – would make him one hell of a masochist. I never got that vibe off him, did you?"

John reluctantly shook his head.

"No. Also, he had his _rifle_ with him; a means of _protection_ and even when he _died_ he never let go of it. Edgar got up that tower – left his pet donkey behind – to try to save his life," Jack said gruffly. "He wanted to live. Whatever got him up there, though, waited him out and he lost the game."

John's teeth clenched as he thought of how frightened the old man had to have been to willingly stay up there rather than risk coming down to get something to drink.

"We're coming up on Old Fred's place," Jack said quietly. "Should we stop in? Let him know?"

John shook his head. "No; Doc Wallace will take care of that. Let's just... let's just go."

Jack nodded and kept his foot on the gas pedal...

...right up until he glanced to his left to look at Old Fred's place. What he saw made him curse and slam on the brakes so hard that John slid forward and bounced off the dashboard with a groan and a thud.

John turned to snarl at his cousin, but he was too late. Jack's door was already open and the older man was stalking away, heading for Fred's homestead. Looking past him, John saw the broken sheep pen and the scattered lumps of dead sheep. Even from where the truck still sat on the road, with the odor of burnt rubber from the tires skidding to a halt filling the air, John could smell blood and gore. Hurriedly, he threw open his door and ran around the front of the truck to join Jack by the sheep pen.

The two men stared in horror at the bloody, fly-crusted lumps of dead sheep lying scattered inside the broken pen. Mounds of dirt like small anthills filled the pen near the shredded remains. Both men figured the dirt had been kicked up in the sheep’s struggle to flee whatever had attacked them.

"What the hell?" John whispered, nauseated at the sight and smell of the carnage.

Jack shook his head. "I don't like this, John-boy – not one little bit."

John nodded. "Agreed."

They moved away from the destroyed pen, heading for the house. John went inside while Jack went around back, the two of them calling for Fred Jenkins. No one answered their hails and John came out of the house to join Jack by the garden, shaking his head.

"This is weird," he told the older man. "This is _real_ weird."

"Tell me about it," Jack grunted, and gestured to a patch of garden a few feet away. A donut circle of sand had formed, with Old Fred's hat dead center in the middle. It was an old, beat up Fedora that Fred was never seen without. A garden hoe lay discarded beside the sand circle.

The two of them walked out into the garden to the sand circle. John squatted down while Jack bent over, peering intently. John picked up the hat—

They screamed, startled and horrified, scrambling away from where Old Fred's terrified face lay in the sand. His head was nestled into the middle of the circle and his mouth gaped open on a silent scream. His faded blue eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky, wide with the fright he'd clearly experienced in the last moments of his life.

" _Jesus!_ " Jack snarled, shuddering as he looked at the old man's head lying on the sandy ground. The sheer terror on Fred's face made him want to vomit.

"What the _hell_ is going on, here?" John shouted, furious and frightened. He realized he was still clutching Fred's hat and he threw it to the ground; wiped his hand roughly over his jeans clad thigh. "Really: what the _hell_ is going on?!"

Jack shook his head. Without a word, he turned on his heel and headed back toward Ol' Puddlejumper. John was right beside him as they scrambled into the truck. Jack did a perfect bootlegger turn, aimed Ol' Puddlejumper back toward Perfection, and hit the gas.

They left the death and destruction behind them with a sharp squeal of tires on asphalt and the truck's engine roaring.

Halfway back to town, they passed through a curve in the road where two road workers from Bixby had been toiling all day, working to repair a vicious crack and pothole that had appeared recently. The curve was one of the few places on the valley floor surrounded by high walls of dirt, rocks, and sage brush. The man operating the jackhammer, Carmine, stopped the machine and pulled off his protective ear muffs when Jack slid Ol' Puddlejumper to a halt beside him.

"You guys need to pack up," Jack snapped at Carmine as Howard, the taller and beefier road worker came to join Carmine.

"What?" Carmine asked, confused.

"You gotta pack up and get out of here," Jack said again. "There's a killer on the loose out here."

" _What?_ " Carmine said again, utterly incredulous.

"We just found a crime scene. A _murder_. There's a psycho out here, guys, and you ain't safe. Pack it up and get _out_."

With that, Jack put the truck into gear and took off again.

Carmine and Howard watched the truck vanish around the bend of the curve; listened to the roar of the engine fade into the distance. Carmine glanced over and saw that Howard had an intense look of worry on his face. He smacked Howard's arm, ignoring the larger man's flinch. When Howard looked at him, Carmine casually grinned and said, "They're pullin' our chain!"

He settled the ear muffs back into place while Howard wandered over to their utility truck to select a large crowbar from among the tools. Howard continued to look in the direction the truck had gone while muttering soft agreement even as Carmine started up the jackhammer again.

His intense focus on what Jack and John had said was why Howard never noticed Carmine letting go of the jackhammer when the metal tip broke through asphalt and red liquid gushed up around the machine, pooling and flooding away from the hole in the ground.

"What?" Carmine whispered, shocked – not noticing that the jackhammer was remaining perfectly upright despite the fact he'd let go of it.

He noticed it a moment later when the jackhammer abruptly moved _away_ from him – still upright, but moving so fast it tore a furrow through the asphalt as it headed toward one of the soft dirt walls.

"God—!" Carmine gasped, not certain what he was seeing. He didn't have time to figure it out, though, because the hydraulic hose from the jackhammer tangled and wrapped itself around his right ankle. With a scream, he was yanked off his feet and dragged along behind the tool.

"Howard!" he shrieked. " _Howard! Oh, shit, man, **help me!**_ "

Howard whirled at the sound of his name and saw Carmine being dragged away and up the high earth wall behind the jackhammer. He ran forward with a shout, ignoring the dirt spilling down the wall from the break caused by the jackhammer's and Carmine's passage.

"Carmine!" he shouted, and saw his friend disappear up and over the edge of the wall. The dirt edge began crumbling away even as he heard Carmine let loose a shrill scream of terror that cut off abruptly. "Carmine! _Carmine!_ "

When the wall abruptly caved in, spilling dirt and hidden boulders down onto him, Howard never had time for more than a short scream before he died.

 

*~*~*

 

"But who could be doing it?" Walter asked, intrigued at the mystery Miguel was putting before him.

Miguel shook his head as he leaned on the counter by the cash register. "I'm not accusin' anybody, but... some of my cattle are missing."

Before Walter could reply, Melvin burst backwards through the front door. He was just ahead of Jack and John, both men looking furious and tense with Nestor on their heels.

"Are you serious?" Melvin crowed, a macabre grin of excitement on his face. "Old Fred's _dead?_ "

"You're bullshitting me!" Nestor argued. "That's just—"

"Nobody's bullshitting anybody, Nestor!" Jack snapped even as he slapped a couple of quarters into John's outstretched hand. The younger man was waiting by the wall-mounted pay phone, the receiver already in his hand.

"What happened to Fred?" Miguel demanded to know, coming to stand by them.

"Worse than Edgar," John grunted, shoving the quarters in and punching 9-1-1 into the keypad.

"What happened to _him?_ " Miguel shot back, even more worried.

"You won't believe it," Jack muttered, shaking his head. He scrubbed hard at his face for a moment and then wheeled away, heading for the snack bin. "I need a candy bar."

John put the receiver to his ear, ready to speak with a police operator – only to go rigid when he heard absolutely _nothing_ on the other end; not even static. He clicked the hook switch a few times, but still nothing happened.

"I don't believe it," he snarled, slamming the receiver back into the cradle hook. "The phone is _dead_. Walter, your phone's dead!"

"I didn't do it!" Walter immediately protested.

Miguel turned to Nestor and asked, "Nestor, what's happening?"

Nestor shook his head, pale and tight-lipped. "According to those two, somebody killed Old Fred."

"What's going on?" Walter asked from where he stood behind the counter.

"No," Miguel whispered, reeling. Old Fred had long been a friend to him. He and Edgar and Fred would get together once a week, drink, and play cards as they talked. "Wait – _Edgar?_ "

"Him, too," Nestor growled. "Said they found him up an electrical tower, dead of thirst."

Miguel swallowed hard and followed Nestor and Melvin as they followed Jack and John back out of the store.

"Hey!" Walter shouted. " _What's going on?_ "

Outside, Jack took the passenger seat of Ol' Puddlejumper while John climbed behind the wheel. Jack had gathered a couple of cans of soda and some candybars for them in preparation for the hard drive toward Bixby they'd be making since they couldn't call for help.

"John," Nestor said, coming to stand by the driver's side door, "you've gotta get to Bixby and get the police up here – and step on it."

John shot the man a furious glare. "Consider it stepped on."

Ol' Puddlejumper took Jack and John out of Perfection yet again. Both men kept a wary gaze on the countryside, looking for anything unusual.

"We decided to leave this place one damn day too late," John muttered. "And what's he mean telling me to go get the cops? Like I don't _know_ the authorities are needed?"

"Easy, John-boy," Jack cautioned. "They don't know we were Special Ops. To them, we're just a pair of has-been flyboys."

John made a grumpy, wordless mutter as his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Besides, there's nothing stopping us now," Jack continued with a scowl. "Everybody we know between here and Bixby is already dead."

John started to nod, and then went rigid.

"What?" Jack asked, alarmed.

John turned his head to stare at him, wide-eyed with worry. "McKay!"

"Oh, shit!" Jack hissed. "We gotta – _look out!_ "

John's head whipped back around. He took in, in an instant, the torn up road and the new barrier of dirt and boulders obscuring the path. He slammed his foot onto the brake pedal and Ol' Puddlejumper screeched to a halt only a few feet away from the rock wall blocking the road.

Both men sat in the cab of the truck, panting from their fright. Eventually, Jack cleared his throat and asked, "Is there some higher force at work, here? I mean: are we asking too much of life?"

John snorted. “Us being us? More’n likely.” He climbed out of the truck. After a few moments, Jack did so, too.

"Where the hell are those guys?" John asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. "And what were they doing: blasting?"

Jack pursed his lips and looked around. "I don't like the looks of this, Shep."

"Yeah, me neither." John headed toward the utility truck. "Hey! Where are you guys? It ain't like there's another road, you assholes!"

His way of thinking was that, if they were nearby, the insult would draw the road workers out. When they failed to appear, a shiver rattled down his spine.

Jack wandered over to the rock pile. Every instinct he had was yelling that Something Bad Had Happened. After what they'd already found so far that morning, he was really very sure he didn't want to find anything else.

Too bad for him that he did.

Jack froze as he spotted a hard hat lying beside one of the larger boulders. The inside of the hat was filled with lumps of blood and brain matter, flies already attracted to the sun-warmed mess.

Gulping back the need to puke, Jack hissed to get John's attention. With a frown, the younger man hurried over to his side and went pale when he saw the hard hat and splatter of brains. Without another word, the two former soldiers ran for the perceived safety of their truck.

While John put Ol' Puddlejumper into gear and began turning the truck around, Jack opened the glove compartment. He pulled Homer and Mother Maybelle out; Homer being his black Desert Eagle and Mother Maybelle being John’s Para-Ordnance P-14. Jack worked quickly; starting with Homer, he ejected the magazine to check the ammo level – perfectly acceptable. With the magazine still out, he pulled the slide to check Homer’s operational readiness. Satisfied, he snapped the magazine back in and chambered a round before repeating the entire weapon check on Maybelle. Once both weapons were ready to go, he settled Maybelle on the seat by John’s right hip and kept Homer in his own hand; both weapons with the safeties on. 

While Jack worked with the guns, John backed the truck up against an intact section of the dirt wall – entirely by accident. Jack threw him a glare for the harsh thump, but John ignored it as he threw the truck into gear and stepped down on the gas. Ol' Puddlejumper made it only a few inches forward before the truck jerked to a halt. Both men frowned as John tried again, and again, to make the truck go forward, but they gained no ground.

"Jesus!" John hissed. "I don't believe this!" He leaned out of his window to peer at the back end of the truck, but saw nothing but dirt and sand.

"You're hung up," Jack groused.

"Like hell I am! There's nothin' back there but dirt!"

John popped the clutch to flood the truck's driveline with full power and stepped down on the gas. The truck leaned into the drive gear, straining forward, but though they gained an inch of distance, they still didn't _go_ like they wanted to.

"You're gonna burn the clutch!" Jack shouted over the roar of Ol' Puddlejumper's engine.

John ignored him as he popped the clutch again, and then again, and finally something gave. Nothing in the truck; he could feel that through the steering wheel, but whatever he'd caught the back end on gave way. With a squeal of tires, Ol' Puddlejumper shot forward. John clamped down on the steering wheel, keeping control, and in moments the two of them were flying back down the road toward Perfection.

They were silent for a few moments, trying to get their pounding hearts under control. Then, in an attempt at normalcy, Jack said, "You could break an axle like that, ya know."

John glared at him. "No offense, Jack, but could you shut the hell up?"

"Hey! Don't sass me, kid. I don't need to spend the night out here's all I'm sayin'."

John grimaced. He had to concede that point.

Still, he couldn't let it pass.

"Crybaby," he muttered, and grinned when Jack shot him an irritated glare.

 

*~*~*~*

 

The entire town population was gathered in Chang’s to discuss the unpleasant shock of finding out two of their own had been killed. That meant Melvin lurked around the adults, trying to be one of them, while Mindy wandered around the store bored out of her mind. All she knew was that Old Fred and Edgar were dead and she hadn’t been allowed to bring her toy cars with her.

Fortunately, she noticed something that took her boredom away as she lingered near one of the front windows. Light and movement caught her attention and she watched Ol’ Puddlejumper pull into the parking area by the front door.

“Hey!” she yelled to the adults. “Jack and John are back!”

Her mother had told her that Jack and John had been trying to leave Perfection for good all day, but stuff kept happening to bring them back. Mindy knew it was kinda selfish of her, but she was glad of this. She didn’t want them to go away; didn’t want _John_ to go away. John was so _pretty_ and he never treated her like she was a nuisance or a dumb girl. He always took time to talk to her and he even played with her on occasion. She’d already decided that when she grew up, she was going to marry him. So, she was very glad he’d come back to Perfection, even if he did look really upset as he got out of his beat up old truck.

Mindy smiled at him as she led the way outside for the others, but he never glanced her way as he focused on the adults that were asking him why he and Jack had returned so quickly from Bixby.

She listened with half an ear. When she heard that they’d had truck trouble, she wandered back to look at the end of the truck – and froze.

 

*~*~*

 

Mindy’s startled cry of “Mom!” caught everyone’s attention. In an instant, they all turned toward the little girl, thinking she might be in trouble. Following her gaze, they realized they _all_ might be in trouble.

“Oh, my God!” Nancy gasped, and ran forward to pull her daughter away from the long, thick, muddy-orange _thing_ clinging to the rear axle of Ol’ Puddlejumper.

Everyone else crowded around as Bert tossed aside the beer can he’d been drinking from and knelt down for a closer look. Jack and John kept Homer and Mother Maybelle pointed steadily at the creature, having drawn their weapons when Mindy had yelped.

“Bert, be careful!” Heather snapped. She was nauseated at the sight of the snake-like creature lying in the dirt beneath the truck and wasn’t at all certain it wasn’t playing possum.

“Relax,” Bert grunted. He used the blade of the shovel handed to him by Jack to knock the creature loose from its grip on the truck’s rear axle. “It’s dead.”

“Unreal,” Melvin breathed, excited almost beyond belief as the six-foot-long thing was hauled out from under the truck.

“Where’d you get it?” Nestor asked of Jack and John.

John shook his head. “I didn’t know we had it.”

Nancy shuddered. “It’s disgusting!” She crossed her arms protectively over Mindy’s chest, holding her daughter back against her body. She wasn’t certain if she was trying to protect her daughter or hide behind her.

Heather moved to kneel facing her husband on the other side of the creature. She wrinkled her nose at the smell even as she pulled a switchblade utility knife from her belt and handed it over to Bert.

“It’s disgusting,” she muttered, watching him hook the blade under the tiny horns curving back from the mouth of the creature. He lifted the head of the creature up for better viewing and the mouth sagged open, revealing a single row, top and bottom each, of needle sharp teeth.

“Some kind of snake?” Bert wondered aloud, squinting as he visually inspected the creature.

"Looks more like an eel to me," Miguel opined.

"Nah; eels live in the water, don't they?" Nestor argued.

Jack grimaced. "It must've grabbed us; that's why the truck stalled."

John turned to him; slapped the back of his hand against Jack's left shoulder and then pointed at him. "Next time I tell you I'm not hung up--"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!" Bert interrupted, startled. "This thing stalled out PJ? It'd have to be one _strong_ son of a bitch."

"Stinks, too," Heather added, voicing what they'd all been thinking.

Walter straightened up from his own inspection of the creature and turned to Jack and John. "I'll give you boys five dollars for this!"

Jack and John looked at each other, and then Jack said, "Walter – are you _whacko?_ "

"Okay, fifteen!" Walter replied, almost growling with reluctance.

"Walter, this thing is _unique_ ," John argued, causing the smaller man to turn to face him. "It's a one-of-a-kind creature... and you want to give us only _fifteen dollars_ for it?"

Walter glared up at the younger man. He turned to glare at Jack, who smirked at him. Scowling harder, he muttered, "Okay... _twenty_."

John looked to Jack for confirmation. Jack grimaced and shrugged, but then grinned. John sighed heavily and said, "Deal."

He and Walter shook on it. As the older man bent back down to stare over Bert's shoulder, Jack jerked his head to indicate the need for private conversation. John followed immediately. They wandered back into Chang's Market and went to select beers for themselves.

"Let him think he's won?" John asked quietly.

"Precisely. Once we make the report, Feds or worse'll be all over this place. Walter's wily when it comes to business; he'll know when it's in his best interest to let go of the thing," Jack muttered.

Pretty soon, the rest of the townsfolk trickled into the building. Miguel and Walter got behind the counter and began cooking, since a community dinner seemed to be in order. Nearly an hour later, everyone settled onto a chosen seat and ate the burgers or hotdogs cooked up for them while they discussed the snake creature.

“Could be a snake?” Miguel asked, rolling a bottle of beer between his palms.

“Some kind of mutation?” Bert offered in return, chewing on a hamburger.

Several grimaces and headshakes were the response, but more of the ‘I just don’t know’ kind than the ‘no way’ kind.

“I’ll tell ya one thing,” Jack muttered, leaning back in his chair with his own bottle of beer. “Just _one_ of those things couldn’t eat up Old Fred and his entire flock of sheep.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Most were shocked; John was the only one who looked like he agreed. As Jack watched, the younger man turned to look out one of the market windows in the direction of the desert where McKay – if he was still alive – had his study camp set up.

Jack felt bad for his cousin – and even for McKay, as he doubted the bitchy scientist was still alive. Both Edgar and Fred had been out in the open; so had the two Bixby road crew guys, making it _easy_ for the snakes to catch their prey. McKay, settled out in a camp of loose soil and sand, would have been easy pickings.

“You think there are more?” Nancy whispered, hugging Mindy as her daughter sat on her lap, listless and unhappy.

Jack sighed. He flicked his thumbnail against the lip of his beer bottle and muttered, “Yeah, Nancy, I sure do.”

At that, everyone went silent for a long time as they processed that frightening statement.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Jim Wallace’s mouth gaped open, his entire face scrunched into a straining grimace.

A few moments later, he relaxed out of the yawn and gave his wife a weary smile as he said, “I’m dead.” At her quiet snicker, he gestured at the construction materials lying around, lit by the faint glow of camp lights, and suggested, “Let’s put this stuff up in the morning.”

Megan settled down beside him on the open tailgate of their old station wagon when Jim did. Leaning against her husband, she propped her chin on his shoulder and said, “We have to go to Bixby in the morning.”

Jim gave her a confused look. Megan grinned and said, “The cinder blocks are in.”

Jim groaned harshly. “The cinder blocks! Ohhhh, my God!”

Megan laughed and patted him. She knew it was only his exhaustion talking; that he was as excited as she was for the next step in getting their permanent home built in the beautiful desert that was Perfection Valley.

Leaning back and tilting her head to look up at the vast array of stars overhead, she patted his back. “Just look, Jim. Just keep lookin’ at that _beautiful_ sky.” She smiled. “That’s the sky that’ll be over our roof every night when we’re done.”

Jim waved a hand at the stars. “What if we don’t finish the roof? Then we can look at the sky all the time.”

Megan snorted softly. Tipping sideways, she leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. He smelled of dirt and dust and sweat; a little rank, but he’d put in a lot of hard work. He was warm and strong and she sighed as she rested against him, loving the feel of his sturdy frame, as always. She felt him rest his cheek against her head, his arm stealing around her shoulders, and smiled.

Jim held his wife against him, taking comfort in having her beside him. The work of building a home, literally, was long and strenuous – very tiring. But having the most beautiful woman in the world with him every step of the way made every ache and pain worth it.

His contentment was ruffled a moment later when the generator that had been chugging somewhat quietly several yards away suddenly went silent. As it did so, the strings of lights they’d put up around their campsite went dark. The only illumination came from the stars overhead.

“Oh, that damn thing,” Jim groaned. Sighing, he let go of his wife and turned to rummage in the back of the station wagon. Pulling an industrial Eveready from the toolkit, he got up and began making his way to where the generator had been placed.

“Maybe it’s time we bought a new one,” Megan called out, staying at the car.

Jim grunted and waved a hand over his shoulder. A moment later, however, he called out, “It’s gone!”

Megan, seeing him staring at the ground, frowned. She got up and walked toward him. “Whaddya mean ‘it’s gone’?”

“I _mean_ : it’s gone!” Jim said, turning to point his flashlight at the ground she was walking on.

She walked up beside her husband and he moved the flashlight beam to the ground in front of them. A circle of dirt with a concave center had been formed and a cord disappeared into the center of the circle.

Still, she couldn’t help asking, “Are you sure this is where it was?”

“It was _right here_ ,” Jim retorted, annoyed. “Look: there’s the cord!”

She glared at him, annoyed herself for the pissy tone he’d used against her. She took the flashlight when he handed it to her and aimed it at the circle of dirt as Jim knelt down and began fishing the power cord out of the dirt. He pulled and pulled, but a couple feet of cord came out of the ground with no end in sight.

“Maybe the ground caved in,” Jim muttered. “This used to be mining territory; there’s lots of old mines and stuff around here.”

Megan flinched at the thought of her husband disappearing into the ground without warning. Bending, she caught hold of his arm and hauled him upright, grunting, “Well, then…! You don’t – you don’t wanna fall in!”

They struggled up onto their feet and as Jim stood, the end of the generator cord finally came out of the dirt. In the dim light of the stars and the flashlight, they stared in shock at the frayed, broken cable.

A moment later, something large was shot out of the dirt several feet away from them, accompanied by a roar of sound. They scrambled back, badly frightened, and watched as the missing generator landed with a loud thump and a clang, parts breaking off and scattering.

Terrified, now, Megan clutched desperately at her husband and tried to pull him back to the car. “Let’s go!”

Jim, stubborn as ever when there was a mystery he felt needed solving, tried to dig his heels in. “God, what is that _stench?_ ”

A deep, subterranean rumbling made Megan freeze. Jim took the opportunity to take back the flashlight and begin prowling toward the noise. Megan gave a convulsive shudder, lurched into motion, and hurried forward to grab Jim’s arm and begin hauling him back toward their car.

“Come on!” she whispered, knowing that something _was not right_. She was shaking so hard she could barely make her legs work, her fingers work, as she fumbled to get her husband to follow her. “Come on, okay? Let’s – let’s go back to town or go to Bixby! Something! _Please_ , Jim!”

Jim was frightened himself, but it wasn’t until he heard the pure terror in his wife’s voice that he finally turned to allow her to guide him toward the car.

“Maybe it’s a geological thing like natural gas,” he suggested. “Or a geyser? They stink like that. Remember Yellowstone?”

Megan didn’t have a chance to reply. Even as he finished asking the question, Jim let out a startled scream as he was yanked down into the ground; buried up to his knees in less than a second.

“ _Jim!_ ” Megan shrieked, scrambling to catch hold of her husband.

“ _Something’s got me!_ ” Jim screamed, and dropped the flashlight as he flailed toward his wife in panic. “Something’s got me down here!”

“No! Jim, _no!_ ” Megan cried out, hauling on his left arm with all her might.

She was yanked down to her knees as Jim was pulled further into the ground, up to his hips. “Jim! Jim, hang—“

His eyes suddenly widened and he gave her a horrified look before throwing his head back on an agonized scream. His entire body lurched and rippled, and Megan knew that whatever had hold of him had caused it. He lurched toward her, clawing desperately for purchase as he was pulled further into the ground.

“ _Oh, God!_ ” he screamed, horrific pain and fright tearing his voice to shreds. “Get something! Get me out of here, get something, _help!_ ”

Megan let out a scream and scrambled for a nearby two-by-four. In the few seconds it took for her to get to the lumber and back, Jim had been pulled down to his shoulders and his body was being shaken violently as he screamed.

“ _It’s eating me!_ ” he shrieked, clutching at the lumber as she shoved it beneath his arms. “ _It’s eating—oh, God, Meggy, **help me!**_ ”

Tears fell down his cheeks as he clutched at his wife with frantic urgency. Tears fell from Megan’s eyes as she caught hold of Jim’s wrists and pulled with all of her strength, screaming his name.

The two-by-four split in half and Jim was pulled beneath the dirt, begging his wife to save him even as Megan hit the ground face-first, still holding onto him until he was pulled from her grasp.

By the time she pushed herself upright, Jim’s fading voice had been silenced entirely.

“ _Jim!_ ” Megan howled, and began digging at the dirt he’d disappeared into.

She reared back a few seconds later, shocked and horrified, as a snake-like creature lifted its head and opened its mouth to snarl at her. Past the dirt-crusted slime ringing its mouth, she could see needle-sharp small teeth.

Faster than she could think, it lunged at her, hissing. Only her reflex to get out of the way saved her from taking a face-full of teeth. Even so, she felt one of the horns on the top of its head scrape hard across her right cheek. The pain served as a sufficient motivator to break past her shock and, shouting, she scrambled up onto her feet and ran for the station wagon. Megan hurled herself into the back of the car and pulled the door shut only moments before the snake creature flung itself up against the rear window.

It hissed and snarled, trying to find purchase on the smooth surface of the glass. Megan shoved and kicked, scrambling to get to the front of the car, and knocked belongings aside without care. The crank radio she and Jim had been using toppled over and unhooked the power stop, causing the power winch on the device to begin rolling. The sounds of a woman’s voice singing a country song filled the car even as she managed to get in the front seat and settled herself behind the steering wheel. Her hand scrabbled at the ignition switch until it registered with her that there were no keys. Memory flashed through her and she recalled Jim pocketing the keys only an hour before.

Jim – who was now somewhere beneath the desert floor.

Whirling around, she looked back at the rear door and discovered that a second snake monster had joined the first. Even as she watched, a third slid up to begin thrashing against the rear window on the left side of the car.

The monsters were clearly searching for her.

“Oh, my God,” she whimpered, and hurried to slam the locks shut on the back doors and the front doors. She didn’t know if the monsters could open doors, given all they had were mouths, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance.

With hissing roars, the snakes abruptly disappeared from view. Given the direction, Megan realized they had to have gone back underground.

She waited, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart. She heard no hisses, no roars… she was safe enough for now, so long as she stayed in the car. Hopefully, someone would be by in the morning and she’d be rescued then. For now, it was going to be a long and lonely night, trapped in the car all by… all by herself.

With that, the realization that _Jim was dead_ , dead and _gone_ , cut her like a knife; right to the heart, right to the soul. Her husband was dead, _killed_ right in front of her, and she was _alone_.

Megan shuddered and buried her face against her arms as heartbroken sobs began punching out of her.

Her sobs cut off as the car lurched and bounced when something struck hard beneath the vehicle. Her head shot up, her body tensing, as dust clouds puffed up around the entirety of the car, which continued to shake from the efforts of the creature beneath it.

Then, the back end of the car began to sink down into the dirt as the monsters began tunneling beneath it in earnest.

Megan turned and slammed her hands into the center of the steering wheel. The car’s horn blasted with the force of her shoves against the horn pads and the old station wagon’s lights clicked on. The front end of the car tipped up toward the sky even as the back windows of the car shattered and dirt spilled inside the vehicle, accompanied by the sound of the snake monsters’ hissing roars.

Megan continued blaring the horn, hoping someone would hear and come investigate, even as she screamed in utter terror.

Her screams were silenced only moments before the light from the car’s headlights disappeared beneath the dirt.

 

*~*~*~*

 

“Mindy, smile!” Walter commanded.

Mindy tried, but she was leaned as far away from the dead snake monster as she possibly could be. Walter had coiled the creature around a high-back chair, posed to look menacing, and had started charging three dollars per photo of whoever wanted to pose with the snake monster.

Nancy leaned forward and smiled at her daughter. “Honey, it’s dead; it can’t hurt you, I promise.”

Mindy eyed her mother, but finally relented and faced Walter with a nervous smile. 

Walter took the photo. “Good girl!” Then, he turned and lunged toward Melvin, who was trying to break into his cash register. Wearily, he snapped, “Melvin, get _out_ of there!” and hurled the boy away from his register.

Melvin was so used to it that he merely rolled his eyes as he stumbled away.

Watching the two were Jack and John, seated at the lunch counter with beers and cigarettes.

“Ol’ Chang’s slick as snot and I ain’t lyin’,” Jack mused, smirking.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d be resentful by now,” John muttered. “Twenty lousy bucks!”

“Man who plans ahead,” Jack taunted.

John curled his lip at him and turned to take a pull off his beer.

Walking past them, Bert returned from filling his mug at the communal coffee pot and re-took his seat at the dining table most of the townsfolk were clustered around. Nancy took her seat and sipped at her coffee while Melvin came to stand between her and Nestor, his arms crossed.

“Look,” Bert said, “we arm ourselves, we stand guard… set a perimeter. Any of those snake things show up here...?” He smirked at the others. “We make ‘em exctinct.”

“All right!” Melvin crowed, smug with the thought of being _part_ of something exciting that might actually let him get his hands on a gun.

He shut up quickly at the censuring look Nancy gave him. She wasn’t _his_ mom, but she was _a_ mom, and the Mom Look worked just as well on him as it did on Mindy.

“Bert, be serious,” Nestor grumbled. 

“Yeah,” Miguel agreed. “You make it sound like a war, man.”

Bert glared in response to their derision. “What’ve you people _got_ against being prepared?!”

“Rambo,” John muttered, and tapped the neck of his beer bottle against Jack’s when the older man grinned in response.

“Wait a minute!” Nancy snapped. “Walter’s got a C.B. radio! Why aren’t you calling somebody over in Bixby? The police need to be—“

Walter, who’d come to clear away dinner dishes, shook his head. “No, no! No good. We can’t reach outside the valley because of the mountains!”

Nancy sighed and rolled her eyes.

Walter pointed at Melvin. “You’re next, boy. Sit down and look scared!”

Thoroughly excited, Melvin scurried over to the chair with the dead snake monster on it.

“Phone’s out, road’s out… we’re on our own,” Heather said, nodding and smirking just a little.

Nancy’s smirk was bigger as she muttered, “You two are just loving it, aren’t you?”

Heather sat up a little straighter, a grin stretching her mouth. “Now, Nancy, don’t get personal about this! We gotta _do_ something!”

“Hell, yes!” Bert bellowed, and shoved up onto his feet. He went over to the nearest window to peer out at the terrain. “We are _completely_ cut off! The valley runs north-south, with mountains to the east and west; cliffs to the north, and then the narrow point and only road out of here to the south toward Bixby!” He came back to the table, smirking. “It’s why me and Heather settled here in the first place – geographic isolation.”

“Never mind the land grant passed down from your great-grandpa, huh?” Miguel teased.

Bert pointed a finger at him, but grinned and winked.

“Oh, come on!” Nancy protested. “There’s gotta be some way we can get help!”

“For God’s sake,” agreed Nestor, “this isn’t the _moon_.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Bert challenged them. “ _Walk_ the thirty-eight miles to Bixby? Be my guest!”

Nancy and Nestor scowled, but didn’t take him up on the offer. Everyone was silent as they tried to think of something.

Miguel was the first to speak up.

“Hey! What about Walter’s saddle horses?” he asked.

Walter took Melvin’s picture as the boy posed with a terrified expression on his face. As soon as the picture was taken, he turned and magnanimously offered, “Welcome to them!”

“Somebody could ride to Bixby,” Miguel told the others.

“That’s not bad,” Bert murmured. “Not bad at all. Who’s best on a horse?”

Jack and John turned after a few moments of silence to find everyone look at them. They looked back, resentful and resigned. They’d already thought of the horses; already thought of riding to Bixby. Both of them had been in agreement that if there was no other way, they’d give it a try, but after the day they’d had, neither of them had been eager to put forth the suggestion.

Now, the plan had been suggested for them and they both knew there was no way for them to back out of it.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Early the next morning, as dawn prepared to break over the mountains, Jack and John were settling the horses with saddlebags and going over their feet with picks to dig out any stones that might have gotten up into tender areas past the shoes.

As Walter walked past to stuff something into the saddlebags on John’s horse, John straightened up from his work to say, “Walter, these things had better be fast! We don’t wanna be stuck on a couple of canters.”

Jack, bundled up against the desert cold with his old flight jacket on over a thick denim shirt, stomped past. “Aw, hell, Shep – those things can’t travel _that_ fast.”

Wearing a black corduroy shirt and a denim jacket over that against the cold air, John smirked at him and said, “Shit, for all you know, they can _fly_.”

When Jack came back toward him, John turned and held up two weapons. Sure, they had Homer and Maybelle tucked into holsters beneath their jackets, but back-up weapons never hurt.

“Which one do you want?” he asked his cousin. “Colt or Edgar’s old rifle?”

Jack snorted. “Rifle. Colt’s nice and all, but it ain’t gonna do shit against one of those snake things.”

“Do enough to hold one off, maybe.”

“I’ll let _you_ take that chance, Johnny boy. Gimme the rifle.”

John smirked, tucked the rifle up under his left arm, and then held up his right fist. Jack sighed, rolled his eyes, but held up his own fist.

Three shakes later, John’s rock beat Jack’s scissors, and Mindy giggled as Jack took the Colt with a sour glare. The little girl giggled some more when John grinned and winked at her before turning to his horse to stow the rifle.

“Jack,” Walter said, walking up to him, “here’s some Swiss cheese and some bullets.”

“Thank you, Walter,” Jack said, and went to pack them and the Colt into his saddlebags. While the Swiss cheese was an oddity, he wasn’t crass enough to disdain a gift from Walter.

Just then, Bert and Heather showed up in their old GMC Suburban. They leaped out, shouldering their rifles as they approached the gathered group of people.

“You guys ready?” Bert asked Jack and John.

“’Bout as ready as we’ll ever be,” Jack replied, and cinched his saddlebags shut.

Bert nodded. “Heather and I are gonna drive around; see if we can’t find that college kid and tell him to get his ass back into town.”

“He’s at least in his late twenties, Bert – doubt he’s a kid,” John muttered.

“That’s ‘kid’ enough for me,” Bert shot back, but grinned as he looked pointedly at John.

John snorted. “Yeah, well, we’ll swing past Doc Wallace’s place; see if they went into Bixby before the road closed.”

With that, Jack and John swung up into the saddles and got situated.

“Hey, wait a minute, guys,” Heather protested. “Y’all have to take somethin’ that packs more of a punch than that old 30-30. Why don’t you take one of our Browning autos? Better’n that: why’n’t you take my Model 70?” She handed the rifle up to Jack. “It’s .375 “H” and “H” mag.”

Jack took the repeating rifle with a happy little noise and shot a smug smirk at John, who rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Heather! Well, hope we don’t need to use—“

He was cut off by the sound of horrified, pained screaming. Jack and John whirled their horses, taking aim with the Model 70 and Maybelle even as Bert shouldered Heather out of the way and set himself up for the perfect kill shot as Melvin burst out of Chang’s market and tumbled off the boardwalk. Mindy and Nancy screamed, huddling back into the protective bracket of Miguel and Nestor, while Melvin – with the dead snake monster wrapped around him – hit the sandy soil on his knees, letting his screams dissolve into laughter as he saw their panicked reactions.

“Melvin!” Walter shouted, utterly furious. Whether it was due to the horrible prank or the potential damage to his money maker was anybody’s guess.

“Dammit, Melvin!” Bert snarled, getting up from his crouch. He put the safety on his rifle, shouldered it, and then got right up in Melvin’s face.

With the furious man looming over him, Melvin’s laughter died a quick death.

“Look at them,” Bert snapped, and pointed to his left.

Melvin did so and paled at the sight of Jack and John sitting atop their horses. Their faces were angry, but focused; no panic, no passion. They kept their weapons trained on him and their horses under control. He looked back to Bert and flicked his gaze to the rifle that had, only moments before, been pointed at him. He met Bert’s gaze and swallowed past the thick lump in his throat.

Bert lifted his left hand. He held his thumb and forefinger a bare centimeter apart. “You came _that close_ , Melvin. No more games.”

He backed off. Jack and John, having secured their weapons, directed their horses over to the young man still kneeling in the dirt.

“Melvin,” Jack said, his voice like thunder, “one of these days, somebody’s gonna kick your ass!”

John didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t have to; the look on his face was promise enough that if Melvin set one foot out of line again in John’s presence, he’d be the one to do the kicking.

With that, the two former pilots pulled their horses around and rode out of town, heading toward Bixby.

Behind them, the townsfolk gathered in a tight huddle and watched them go, hoping for the best.

 

*~*~*

 

The black cloth that draped as protective cover over the wooden frame of the Wallace house hung in tatters as Jack and John quietly walked through the bare property. It had taken an hour by horse to get to the doctor's homestead and the sun was now well above the mountains, shining light on an eerie scene of desertion.

John's attention was caught by the squeaking hinge of the trailer door. He made his way over to it and stuck his head inside, but saw nothing. He was certain there was no one there, but he still called out, "Doc Wallace?"

Silence greeted his query.

John sighed and turned away, walking back to where Jack stood by the bare house frame with a deeply suspicious look on his face. Reaching up, John pushed his rodeo hat up to scratch at his hairline, feeling cold sweat beading there in his nervousness. Cramming the hat back on his head, he went to stand beside his cousin.

"I hate this," John said when Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "My Spidey-senses are tingling."

Jack looked around, his shrewd gaze taking in everything, and shrugged. "It's a little hinky, I'll admit. But their car's gone; we may have just missed 'em."

"Yeah? Then where the hell's the goddamned golden oldie coming from?" John challenged, because while they'd both been still and silent, the muffled sound of old-time rock and roll had reached his ears.

The two men moved forward toward the muffled music, walking carefully and soundlessly spread out. John took note of the ground they were heading toward an frowned. It was lumpier than it had been yesterday, with piles and divots of dirt lumped around in an oval shape.

They moved into the churned up soil and, within a few steps, John came to a halt as his right boot slammed into something metal with a solid thunk.

The two men glanced at each other and that bad feeling in their guts got worse. They squatted down and began digging at the dirt over the metal object.

"The hell's this?" Jack muttered, his voice rough.

"Hell if I know," John replied, his own voice tense.

Within a few seconds, they had the dirt cleared away. Weak yellow light from the Wallaces' station wagon burned straight up from the ground. Framed between the two lamps were the car's metal grill and the Ford signature stamp smack dab in the center.

John sat back on his heels. Beside him, Jack shifted to one knee and turned to look at him. John looked back and saw his own fear staring right back at him.

Without a word, they stood and ran for the horses. For once, Jack didn't make a sound about his creaky old bones and joints. In fact, he scrambled onto his horse faster than John did.

Seconds later, they were riding out over the Nevada desert, leaving the Wallace homestead – the _burial ground_ – behind them in the dust.

The terrain being uneven, filled with potholes and divots, neither man broke concentration from guiding their horses at a quick canter until they hit flat, open space.

"Here's the plan!" Jack shouted over the thunder of galloping horse hooves. "We don't ever stop; we ride like hell!"

The two men guided their horses away from the cement aqueduct they had been riding alongside; turned to follow the barbed wire fencing out into the desert that they'd strung up only yesterday.

"At night," Jack continued, "we'll keep right on goin'! We'll walk the horses!"

"Roger that!" John shouted back, sweeping his gaze in a constant search pattern. "I mean: what the hell _are_ those things that they can _bury an entire station wagon?_ "

" _Why_ would they do it, you mean!"

"Why? _Why?_ They've attacked every _living_ thing they've come across, Jack! Ain't it obvious? We're _food!_ "

"Oh, _God!_ " Jack shouted, and tried not to gag at the thought of Jim and Megan being dug out of their car like spam from a can.

Abruptly, the horses slammed to a halt. Scrambling in the dirt, they refused to go forward another step as they threw back their heads and screamed in terror.

"Giddyap! Go on!" Jack hollered, flicking the reins and jerking his heels back. The horse spun away and he hauled it back, the two of them going around in circles as Jack tried to go one way and the horse another way. "Walter wouldn't know a decent horse if it bit him on the ass!"

"No, wait!" John pulled Edgar's Winchester from the saddle holster, gripping the reins one-handed. "They've got wind of something they don't like!"

"Shit!" Jack pulled the Model 70 from where he’d secured it to his saddlebags. He held the weapon one-handed while holding the reins with his other hand. Deliberately, he spun the horse around, searching for the incoming attack. "I don't like this – somethin' stupid's going on!"

"Christ, I know," John growled, also turning his horse. "I don't see anything – anywhere!"

Several niggling thoughts prodded for his attention: Edgar climbing as high up as he could go; Fred's head left in a mound of dirt, sheep parts scattered all over, and no tracks; the station wagon buried straight down as if—

Before he could put the pieces fully together, Jack's horse let out a bellow of agony and threw him as it reared up and fell over. Startled, John lost the reins of his own horse as it, too, panicked and threw him off.

Gasping at the impact, he coughed to clear his lungs and rolled into a ball to keep himself out of the way as his horse ran for its life. Rolling up onto hands and knees, he saw Jack crawling toward him out of a small dust cloud and scrambled over to join his cousin.

"Hey! You okay?" he snapped, catching hold of Jack and moving to check for broken bones.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, dammit!" Jack snarled, slapping his hands away. He got up into a crouch and turned, asking, "What about my hor—"

His voice choked off in horror that John understood perfectly. The two of them leaped to their feet, horrified and disgusted at the sight of two long, tentacle-like things wrapped around the struggling horse. As they watched, a snake-head moved to clamp onto the horse's left hind thigh while another one tore a bloody gash into the animal's neck. The horse screamed in pain and terror, trying to fight free and failing miserably.

"Son of a bitch," Jack hissed, his gut knotting.

"That's how," John said, all the clues piecing together perfectly in his mind and wishing to God he'd seen it sooner. "That's how they take down prey: they're _under_ the goddamned _ground_."

"What the hell are they?" Jack snapped, already pulling Homer from the shoulder holster he wore.

John could understand, now, why Edgar had chosen death atop the electrical tower. His gut churned as he imagined the pain and terror Old Fred and his sheep, the road crew, Doc Wallace and his wife must have endured; eaten alive by creatures they never saw coming, figuratively and literally. And, oh God, oh no, _Rodney_ ; he wouldn’t have had a _chance_ out here—

"Sons o' _bitches_ ," John snarled, cocking the rifle. He took aim at the snake-head snacking on the now-limp horse's neck and blew it away with one smooth pull of the trigger.

The snakes vanished into the ground, slithering backwards with terrifying swiftness and a hissing scream into the loose soil.

Jack and John faced each other, nodding 'well done' and 'good luck' to each other because they knew they weren't out of the woods yet. Before they could say anything, the ground beneath them heaved and lurched upward, swelling up so high it knocked them off their feet and sent them rolling across the dirt.

Scrambling up onto their feet, they hurried to each other's side and John aimed the rifle at the burgeoning swell of earth.

"Must be a million of 'em!" he shouted.

The swelling shattered as a nightmare of a monster pushed its way to the surface, screeching. It looked like a giant, fat earthworm, only with a triangular beak that opened in three different directions when it turned to scream at the two men. From the fleshy red throat, three of the snake-things emerged with one of them missing its head. The other two opened their mouths to show sharp teeth, hissing and screeching in concert.

Jack stared, aghast, and said, "Nope – just one!"

Jack backed away, his fingertips skidding over John's denim jacket as he tried to catch hold of the younger man. He knew there was no way they were gonna win this face-off. Small caliber rifles and nine-mils against an underground leviathan? No chance in hell.

"Come on," he snapped, even as John took aim and fired repeatedly. The monster simply snapped at the bullets as if they were flies. "Come on!"

Seeing that his weapon was doing fuck-all against the monster slug, John turned to follow Jack in retreat. He let the 30-30 fall away, needing speed more than the unwieldy, useless weapon.

They ran for the concrete aqueduct that spent a majority of its time dry. It had been put in place ages ago when Perfection had been a boom town. When the ranches and homesteads had dried up, so too had the water wells and the aqueduct had gone dry. Now, as they ran toward it, both men could hear the crack of wood as the fence posts they'd placed yesterday were tunneled under by the monster. The posts came down behind them – pop, pop, pop! – and they could hear those pops getting closer to them.

"He's gaining on us!" John yelled, and then wished he hadn't. It was obvious the monster was catching up and, really, he needed every bit of oxygen his lungs could spare right now.

Jack pointed toward the aqueduct even as his favorite baseball cap flew off his head. "There! We can make it! We can make it!"

John didn't bother arguing because, hell, he wanted to _live_.

The two men ran right up to the edge of the aqueduct and powered off, leaping as high and as hard as they could with desperate yells.

They almost made it. Sweaty hands clutched with terrified desperation at the top of the concrete wall on the other side as Jack and John slammed into the smooth surface with pained grunts. They had no solid grip, no perfect edge to grab onto, and they slid down into the aqueduct an instant later.

Clawing, they tried to climb, but the aqueduct wall was a slick vertical surface. Thunder sounded from behind them; a growing roar that they knew was the monster coming _closer_.

And then, suddenly, the aqueduct wall behind them cracked like an egg and the monster let out a terrible shriek as it was stopped cold in its charge.

The two men whirled around, their hearts pounding in their chests; each of them certain that This Was It. When nothing further happened, when no noise was made, they warily began to relax.

"Stupid son of a bitch," Jack sneered, panting, "knocked itself cold."

Parts of the aqueduct wall fell away from the impact site. Rivulets of orange-red fluid spilled down, as did a limp snake-tongue.

"Cold my ass," John whispered, "he's _dead_."

Jack stared at the dead snake-tongue, shocked and overjoyed that he'd lived through the attack _and_ that the enemy had been defeated.

"We killed it," John murmured, his voice stronger. "We _killed_ it."

Jack grinned at the younger man, laughing when John abruptly stepped forward and gestured at the dead creature while screaming, " _FUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU!_ "

They were still laughing when rocks and dirt tumbled down the wall behind them, startling them both into yelping and whirling around to look up.

“Well, hello again, naturally,” Rodney McKay said, his tone of voice sardonic to match the twist of his mouth.

Jack and John let out quiet sighs of relief, slouching as they realized they weren’t about to be eaten by a scary underground snake-slug.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you mind telling me if you noticed something odd happening a few moments ago? Literally: a few moments ago. I was up on that rock pile checking some equipment when—“

Rodney’s voice went out like it was a string that had been cut. John winced a little as those brilliant blue eyes glared past him to the hole in the wall, the blood, and the dangling snake-tongue.

“ _What_ is _that?_ ”

 

*~*~*

 

Rodney McKay had seen some strange things in his life.

Being himself had brought about Rodney’s share of oddities. There had been the _fascinating_ introduction to anaphylaxis via citrus, the reintroduction via bee sting, and the knowledge that skipping two or three grades ahead only impressed himself with his mental prowess. Students resented him for being smarter and younger than they were, _teachers_ resented him for being smarter and younger than they were, and his parents saw him only as a useful tool to further personal gain or hurt one another.

His intelligence led him to learning the wonder of music, the disappointment of bitterness, and literally seeing the galaxy laid out before him like a roadmap of awesome.

He’d seen someone’s brains sitting beside a piece of metal that used to be the car they’d tried to race across the railroad crossing before the freight train got there.

He’d seen a wealthy man pull off his scarf and wrap it gently around the neck of a homeless woman on a winter afternoon.

He’d seen zombie walks, slut walks, and all kinds of walks for this, that, or the other organization.

But he’d never seen anything like _this_ before.

Only an hour earlier, he’d been muttering imprecations at the seismometer that showed absolutely no physical problems whatsoever, which did _not_ match the graphs being sketched out on the printer back at his base camp. It was a mystery that was giving him more headaches than answers and he’d been losing his patience.

Then, he’d noticed a dust cloud in the distance. Pulling out his high-spec binoculars, he’d seen two horses and their riders doing an odd dance in the dirt. What had worried him had been the sight of the rifles also in play. Then, the horses had thrown their riders and, even over the distance, Rodney had been able to hear screams from both animal and man. Rifles or not, he had to lend aid if he could as all four had appeared to be in trouble.

Upon arrival, he’d found the junkyard cowboys known as John and Jack. A moment later, he’d found the latest and greatest odd thing to see in his life; some biological specimen never before known to man.

Without hesitation, he’d slid down into the aqueduct. He’d helped Jack push John up the other side, where the rest of the biological oddity was, and then they’d all gotten to work: he and Jack working to widen the cracked hole in the aqueduct while John had taken his spade and set about digging up the rest of the carcass.

Which led Rodney to now: rearing back and gagging at the unmitigated _stench_ erupting from the widened hole as the front end of the underground creature was exposed.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Jack gasped beside him, waving his hand in front of his nose. “Does it smell like that _because_ it’s dead?”

Rodney pulled a small tube of lotion from his pocket. His skin was so sensitive, but here he was, mucking about with dirt and rocks; of course he had to have some help! Fortunately, the “help” came along with a pleasant peppermint aroma and no citrus products whatsoever.

He squeezed a dollop onto his finger and then smeared it beneath his nose, almost immediately experiencing a reduction in the smell of rotting meat. He handed the tube to Jack, who gratefully copied him while Rodney pushed past to examine the carcass.

“No eyes,” he muttered, cataloguing the head’s features. “It must be entirely subterranean, then, to have no need of eyes. And those tentacles…”

“Yeah,” Jack said, stepping up beside him. “When it attacked us... first, it went for the horses; took mine out from under me and those things were wrapped around the poor critter. About six feet or more, I’d say. They were snacking on the horse, biting it into submission ‘cause it was thrashing around so much—“

“Yes, thank you, that is _precisely_ the type of editorial I do not need,” Rodney said tightly, feeling ill.

“Whatever. Anyway, John shot a snake tongue off – see? This one’s missing its head. The tongues pulled back and then _this_ —“ Jack gestured to the entire corpse; “—burst right up out of the ground from under us, opened its mouth, and the tongues came out. So, just a guess, but I think the tongues shoot out of its mouth, hook onto food, and then drag it back in.”

“Oh, wonderful: a carnivorous frog wanna-be,” Rodney griped.

Jack snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, at least we stopped it before it killed anybody else.”

Rodney throttled back the urge to vomit. When O’Neill and Sheppard had told him about the man-eating creature, he’d been skeptical but not outright disbelieving. But, as he’d inspected the razor-sharp teeth in the snake-tongue’s mouth (a _tongue_ with a _mouth of its own_ , just _God_ ), he’d thought maybe it wasn’t merely a tall tale. They’d told him about finding the town drunk dead of dehydration atop an electrical tower; of finding Old Fred’s head and the remains of the sheep; of finding the remains of a road crew on the road to Bixby, of finding the local doctor’s station wagon buried straight down and no sign of the good doctor or his wife.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice quiet, and wanted to faint at the knowledge that he’d been alone and utterly unprotected while a monster had tunneled the desert floor.

A strong hand clamped down on Rodney’s shoulder, startling the life out of him. He flinched and looked up, only to find O’Neill staring at him. Rodney knew the other man had seen his fright. He tensed, prepared to snarl a defense, but the look on O’Neill’s face made him stop as he realized he wasn’t being ridiculed for a very rational fear. In fact, it seemed the other man was attempting to offer comfort.

“Yes, well,” Rodney said brusquely, “all else aside, this is more than likely the biggest zoological discovery of the century.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “You’re an earthquake scientist – and whatever else those extra PhDs are attached to—“

“Astrophysics and engineering.”

“Right! Two things that don’t have zoo in any part of them.”

“Your _point?_ ”

“Why do you care about a science discovery that isn’t in your field?”

“Because it’s a _discovery_ , O’Neill! Besides which—“

“Hey!”

The shout from John interrupted Rodney, and both he and O’Neill looked up at the lip of the aqueduct wall to see if John would appear.

He didn’t, but his voice did in a bellow of: “I found the ass end! Holy _shit_ , dudes! We really caught something, here!”

Rodney and Jack eyeballed each other, and then Jack jerked his head up toward the wall.

“I’ll boost if you’ll gimme a hand up,” he offered.

“You’re liable to throw out your back,” Rodney crabbed, “but I supposed it’s better than being left down here.”

Working together, they climbed up the aqueduct wall, avoiding stepping on the carcass and thus destroying any evidence. By the time Rodney landed on his butt in the dirt, pulling Jack up over the lip of the wall and into the dirt beside him, he was pretty certain the dead critter wouldn’t have cared one way or the other and he could have saved himself a few muscle pulls.

Rodney flinched a little when dirt crunched by his ear. He squinted up at the dark figure looming over him, blocking out the sun.

"Here, Doc," Sheppard said; "lemme give you a hand."

Rodney didn't protest as he was helped up onto his feet. He was surprised at how strong Sheppard was as the skinny man hauled him upright with barely a grunt of breath. Shaking it off, he took one of Jack's arms while John took the other and they got O'Neill onto his feet.

Rodney stared down at the exposed carcass of the giant carnivorous worm. The thing stretched thirty feet long; longer, even, than a Great White Shark. The body was tubular, but bulbous, reminding Rodney quite a bit of Jabba the Hutt. He snorted at his own fancy and moved to the shallow trench Sheppard had dug along one side and got down into it.

"Man," Jack groused, walking down toward the tail end, "this is one big mother!"

John followed him, the click-hiss of Jack's lighter loud as he lit up and drew on a cigarette. "Yeah. Hey, this old boy must be the thing that had your seismos working overtime, Doc."

"My _name_ is Rodney," the scientist retorted. When he lifted his head to glare at John and blinked in surprise. "You smoke?"

"Not anymore. Used to, all the time, but I decided to quit except for emergency purposes. I'd say surviving a giant worm beast with a case of the munchies qualifies, yeah?" John asked, grinning.

"If you're going to quit most of the way, you should quit all of the way," Rodney grumbled. "I can't imagine you get too many people that enjoy kissing that taste out of your mouth."

John's eyebrows went way, way up on his forehead and he stared at McKay in surprise.

"Oh, shut up," Rodney grumbled, and squatted in the ditch beside the worm carcass.

Reaching out, he took hold of one of the thick, bony spines that protruded from the worm's skin and flexed it, seeing the motion of the body around the spike. "It hasn't any legs or arms or hands, so it must push itself along with these – all pushing at once, in a ripple from head to tail. That's why it moved so fast. This thing had sensors tripping all over the place, no—"

He bit off the words, shuddering as a very frightening piece of information pushed itself to his full awareness. Without another word, he whirled and lunged for the backpack he'd dropped in the dirt before getting in the shallow trench.

Jack and John paced back and forth behind him, ignoring the rustling of papers as they discussed what to do with their catch.

“We need to get Ol’ Puddlejumper out here,” Jack said, “or the Cat. No, no… a flatbed! Put a winch on and haul that thing out.”

John shook his head. “Not a winch; that’ll tear it all up and if McKay is right, this could be our ticket out of here.”

“Yeah – a ticket that _we_ write,” Jack agreed, smirking. “Mine spells R-E-T-I-R-E-M-E-N-T, permanent-like. What about you?”

“I’m not sure,” John said, smirking back, “but I’ll tell you this: ol’ Chang doesn’t get his slick mitts on this thing for a measly twenty bucks!”

“You got that right!” Jack shot back, and they high-fived like a couple of teenagers. Jack called over his shoulder to Rodney, “Hey, McKay! You ever seen anything like this before?”

Rodney utterly ignored them, frantically rifling through reams of printed graphs. John rolled his eyes at Jack and said, “Sure, dude – everybody’s seen ‘em. We just didn’t tell _you_.”

“Smart-ass,” Jack griped.

“Dumb-shit,” John replied, but his grin was warm to take the sting out. “Jesus, Jack: nobody’s ever seen anything like this before. Considering that the damn thing hunts anything that lives on or in the ground, it’s a miracle it was never found before now!”

Jack scratched the stubble on his chin and frowned. “Yeah. It can’t have been around very long, then, ‘cause Bixby’s no metropolis and there’s a few farms out that way before you get into town. We’d have heard about this thing coming after ‘em by now.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, eyeing the monster’s corpse. “Wonder where it came from, then?”

“We’ll let the eggheads figure that out. For now, I know where it’s going: onto a flatbed using a crane so I can get to Minnesota and fish the rest of my life away.”

“Minnesota? _Fishing?_ What’s in Minnesota – besides smelly fish – that’d make you head to the Land of Ten-Thousand Lakes and Ten- _Billion_ Mosquitoes?”

Jack was silent for a few moments. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “Charlie and I… I’ve got a little cabin in Minnesota, situated on a private plot of land with a small pond that hasn’t got a single fish in it. Charlie and I would go there a couple of weeks every summer. Sarah would take the time to go to a spa, hang out with friends while me and my boy got in some bonding time. He didn’t care that there weren’t any fish; kinda liked it that way ‘cause then he didn’t have to touch worms or dead fish. We’d just sit and cast our lines out and relax; talk about anything and everything.”

John reached out and lightly curled his fingers around his cousin’s arm. “Jack… yeah. Go to Minnesota.”

Jack grinned, grateful for John’s understanding.

The idyllic moment was shattered a moment later as Rodney ran up to them, shoving paper in their faces.

“The way I figure it,” Rodney said breathlessly, his blue eyes wide with fright, “there are three more of these things!”

The two former soldiers went very, very still. They glanced at each other, and then back to Rodney.

“ _Three more?_ ” they chorused, tones of worry in their voices.

Jack began looking around even as he pulled his 9mil from his belt while Rodney began explaining.

“I’ve got seismographs all over this valley and if you _compare_ the different readings,” Rodney babbled, pointing here-there-and-everywhere all over the graphs, “here’s one at eleven A.M. yesterday. But, over here, three miles away is another reading at the _same time_. And over _here_ —“

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll take your word for it,” John said, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his boot heel. He scanned the ground, looking for signs of movement.

“Where’s your truck, McKay?” Jack asked, his tone brusque.

Rodney rolled the graphs into a tube and pointed. “Just beyond that hill.”

Jack and John eyed the hill that was a good quarter-mile away.

“Aw, _shit_ ,” they said together.

 

*~*~*

 

John wondered if it was divine intervention or sheer dumb luck that got them back to Rodney’s base camp without being sucked down into the ground and eaten alive. As it was, he spent the entire walk wishing – oddly enough – for a satellite radio not so he could call for help (not _entirely_ so he could call for help) but more so he could finally complete that call to his dad. After all the times he’d chickened out, and now, when he desperately wanted to hear his father’s voice, he _couldn’t_ get a call out.

If he lived through this, he swore he’d make that call.

They were walking through camp, on their way to Rodney’s truck, when Jack abruptly sank into the ground; his right leg going in up to the knee as he bellowed to the sky. Rodney yelped and tripped over his lawn chair in his desperate scramble to get away while John ran forward, ripped Maybelle from her holster, and fired desperately into the ground to the right of the hole.

“Stop! _Stop!_ ” Jack snarled, shoving at John.

Confused, John did so, and then winced when Jack pulled his leg free. A graze mark slid along the outside of the toe well of Jack’s boot; a bullet having come perilously close to his toes. He grinned sheepishly when Jack scowled at him before helping his cousin up onto his feet.

“Sorry,” John offered.

Jack scowled and began slapping dust and dirt off his pants leg. “Damn prairie dog burrows!”

“You do have this absolute knack for findin’ ‘em.”

“I’ll ‘knack’ you if you don’t shut up!”

“Hey! Not my fault—“

“Psst! Psst!”

The two cousins looked around at the frantic hissing sound. Seeing Rodney, they scowled, confused… until they saw Rodney look pointedly at the graph needle which was jumping wildly across a ream of paper in the sketching machine.

John reached Rodney first. He caught hold of the stockier man, hauled him up onto his feet, and slung him towards Jack even as he finished securing Maybelle in her holster. The older man caught Rodney and turned to run immediately, his hand clamped around McKay’s wrist and leading the stumbling scientist toward the nearest pile of high, thick boulders. John ran behind them, fully prepared to break away onto open ground, baiting the monster if it meant keeping the thing away from Rodney and Jack.

Fortunately, there was no need of that. Jack and Rodney scrambled up onto the boulder pile easily. Jack shoved the scientist further up and then turned back to catch John as the younger man took a running leap up onto the rock just ahead of the worm monster.

Immediately, three snake-tongues shot out of the ground; slithered up with screams and hisses along the dense surface of the rock, trying to find the monster’s prey. John stomped hard on one tongue and then barely managed to get out of the way as a second one lunged toward him. The third one… well, now.

“Looks like the one that got our truck,” he grumbled as Jack hauled him further up onto the rock out of the monster’s reach. “One of the tongues is torn in half; shredded at the end!”

“Yeah, that’s just great,” Jack muttered. “That evens the odds tremendously.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm.”

“There’s always a need for sarcasm.”

“And coffee,” Rodney added, not wanting to be left out.

Jack aimed a pleased grin at the scientist. “Not bad, not bad. Make it a beer and you’ll be singin’ my song, McKay.”

Blue eyes glared disgruntlement at the older man. “I don’t sing.”

“Not important right now,” John interrupted. “Where’s your truck?”

Rodney’s lips flattened into a thin line as he turned to the right and pointed. “Way over there.”

Jack and John looked along the line of boulders stretching across the desert floor to where Rodney’s truck sat parked a quarter-mile away.

“The _hell?_ ” John snapped. “Why is it _there?_ ”

“Because, for a good three-quarters of the day, that area is _shaded_ ,” Rodney snapped back. “It cuts down on the heat in the truck! Believe me: had I known there were subterranean monsters roaming around out here, _and_ if I were so stupid as to come here deliberately while knowing about them, I’d have made a greater effort to keep the truck accessible during random suicidal jaunts across the open ground!”

Jack let out a sharp whistle and made the Time Out signal with his hands. “Hey! Kids! Knock it the fuck off, will ya? We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Like how we’re gonna get to the truck,” John agreed, his expression grim. “There’s no way we can run that far. Those fuckers are faster than an F-15 Eagle!”

“Not quite,” Jack replied, “but fast enough for me to freak out about it.” He waved his hand in front of his face and grimaced. “The live ones smell worse than the dead ones. Seriously: how have these things gone undetected?”

“Probably because it’s impossible for humans to smell things through solid dirt and rock,” said Rodney, his tone acid with derision. “Why do you _think_ coffins are buried six feet down? You can smell this thing only because it’s close to the surface.”

They watched as the maimed worm ‘swam’ around the boulder, its stubby hide moving powerfully through the sandy topsoil before disappearing deeper into the ground.

Jack sighed. “So… maybe we just wait a while and it’ll give up and go away.”

“Like it did with Edgar?” John challenged.

“The old man you found dead atop the electrical tower?” Rodney queried, his tone sharp.

The other two men nodded.

“Wonderful,” Rodney sighed, and settled down on the highest flat top of the boulder.

Jack and John looked at each other, shrugged, and chose sitting spots as well.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Hours passed by with the three of them perched atop the rock. Periodically, the stench of the worm monster reappeared, occasionally accompanied by puffs of dirt and a few shrill screams. Eventually, though, even those signs faded away.

Bored out of their minds, they tried to figure out _where_ the worm monsters had come from.

“I got it!” Jack said, snapping his fingers. He smirked at the other men. “They’re mutations caused by radiation.”

“Oh, what: Teenage Mutant Ninja Worms?” Rodney sniped.

“If turtles can do it, why not worms?”

“Because you can’t do ninja kicks if you haven’t got any legs,” John supplied, and Rodney snapped his fingers and pointed at him with a nod.

“Alright, smarty-pants: where do _you_ think they come from?” Jack griped at his cousin.

“Government built ‘em,” John said with a grin. “Biiiiiiig surprise for Saddam.”

Jack blinked and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad, not bad… but I didn’t get even a whisper of anything like this from my grapevine.”

“Yeah, but remember: nobody else has reported seeing these things so far, and we’ve been gone from the Air Force for nearly eight months.”

“True.”

Rodney sighed and shook his head. “There’s nothing like them in the fossil record, of that I’m certain. Which would mean they… _pre-date_ the fossil record, and yet, no one has ever seen one of these things before.” He made a sound of disgust.

“How is that a problem?” asked O’Neill.

“Well, for starters, it would make these creatures oh, say, a couple _billion_ years old,” Rodney retorted.

“Aha.”

“Yeah.”

“What about outer space, then?” Jack offered. “No way these are local boys.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Oh, my _God_ … _really?_ What is the Air Force using for selection criteria these days? ‘Can color inside the lines’? ‘Plays well with others’? ‘Can recite the whole entire alphabet in one go’?”

Jack and John both glared at him.

“Well, why can’t they be?” John asked, insulted.

“I’m an _astrophysicist_ , remember? It means I _study stars_ ; galaxies, the _universe_. If anything like these existed in _space_ , we’d have seen them before now, on Earth, _underground_.” Rodney snorted. “Space alien parasites… _really_.”

“Maybe you haven’t seen everything yet, Doc,” Jack said, smirking. “Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“Yes, thank you, that’s very Zen of you. Shall we fold ourselves into Lotus position, now, and chant our chakras into place?”

“You’re a vicious little thing,” John drawled, successfully drawing Rodney’s ire as blue eyes lasered a glare his way. “How’d a _star-gazer_ end up mucking around in the _dirt?_ ”

Rodney stiffened. He fidgeted a little, brushing at dirt on the knee of one pants leg. “Yes, well… I was… a victim of circumstance.”

Jack and John shared a grin.

“So, what’s her name?” Jack queried.

Rodney blinked his eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Her _name_ ,” John goaded. “The one that tempted you away from the stars and down onto the ground.”

“What…?”

“Anybody knows ‘circumstance’ is just another name for ‘pecker’,” John added, keeping his expression earnest and smooth.

Rodney gaped at him. “How did you…? Really? I mean… seriously?”

Jack turned away to muffle his snickers. John, though, abruptly felt bad enough that his humor drained away to nothing. It was obvious that Rodney was not socially savant. _Science_ , certainly, he had that down, but social understanding…? Not a bit.

“Yeah, buddy,” he said, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Rodney sighed and looked away. The resignation on his face, the regret in his eyes, made John feel even more like a heel.

“Yes, well, it hardly matters who she was,” Rodney said a few moments later. “She wouldn’t give me the time of day; thought herself far too good for the likes of me.”

“Her loss,” said John firmly.

“Yes, I think so. I mean… I probably… came on a little strong. Probably. It would explain why she threatened me with a restraining order after pepper-spraying me in the face.” Seeing the look on Jack’s and John’s faces, Rodney waved his hands and shook his head. “I never touched her! I just… I asked for a date once or twice… or five or ten.”

“She must’ve been a hottie,” John offered, his tone flat.

“Beautiful,” Rodney sighed. “Blonde, blue-eyed, creamy skin, lovely bosom, and _smart_ ; so very smart. Not as smart as I am, of course; I am genius unparalleled, obviously. But for a dumb blonde, she was pretty damn smart. They’re my weakness, you see: dumb blondes with a great rack.”

“Whaddya know? That’s John’s particular kryptonite, too,” Jack said, smirking, and the grin only got wider at John’s dirty look aimed his way.

“Oh! Um… you’re straight?” Rodney murmured, fidgeting again.

John gaped. “I, uh… why do you ask?”

“Well… I’m sorry. Only, I got the vibe that you might be… well… you know,” McKay hedged. “I mean, it’s just… I don’t meet many straight men with hair like _that_.”

John put a hand to his hair. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing! Just… I mean…”

“It isn’t styled that way,” Jack said, grinning hugely. “It’s naturally cowlick-y. He only uses gel to _keep_ it that way.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jack!” John bellowed, furious.

“Oh, God… that’s _real?_ ” Rodney sputtered. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay, you…? Shut up,” John snarled, pointing at the scientist while Jack fell back across the boulder, laughing uproariously.

“No! Not sorry that it’s natural, just sorry—“

“Well, what about you?” John shot back, embarrassed and furious.

“What about me _what?_ ”

“Since you’re so hot on the subject: gay or straight?”

“I’m Canadian,” McKay retorted, as if that explained anything and everything. His chin gave a pugnacious tilt upwards in subtle challenge.

“So what?”

“So _what?_ So… so… you know what? Never mind; I’ll shut up,” Rodney muttered, turning away while his shoulders hunched in.

John raked a hand through his hair and huffed an infuriated sigh. He didn’t say anything, though, because it was obvious that Rodney felt bad enough and was, possibly, expecting to be assaulted for his words.

After a few moments, John managed to say, “Don’t worry about it, McKay.”

Rodney didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he peeked over his shoulder with wide and hopeful blue eyes. John dredged up a smile, trying to convey the message that McKay had nothing to fear from him.

It seemed to work to some degree as Rodney nodded slowly and turned back around, but the hunched posture unfurled; his spine relaxing.

Jack, now done laughing and having caught his breath, slowly sat up. He braced his arms on his knees and sighed as he looked out over the desert terrain. The blue of the sky was beginning to take on lilac tones as dusk approached. He’d rather not spend the night out in the desert with a hungry monster.

“Well,” he said, “we haven’t seen a sign for a couple of hours.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, while Rodney nodded.

“Must be long gone,” Jack added, trying to sound certain and not hopeful.

“Yeah, must be,” John agreed again, and then smirked. “Why don’t you take a little stroll; find out?”

Jack’s reply was a firmly extended middle finger.

“We have to do something,” Rodney said, his voice tight. “I… I’m hypoglycemic. I’ll need to eat soon.”

Jack scowled. “You’re diabetic? Do you have your insulin in your pack?”

Rodney shook his head. “No, I’m non-diabetic hypoglycemic.”

“Right. What do we need to look out for?”

“If I go shaky and depressed or indifferent, but my adrenal response goes up. It’s… I’ll shake, sweat, and be combative – if I can be bothered,” McKay replied.

“Do you have snacks in your pack?”

“I did, but I ate the last one just before I saw you two having your fight with the first worm monster.” At their glowers, Rodney glowered right back. “I wasn’t _expecting_ to be trapped out here for hours on end by a carnivorous underground monster!”

“Yeah, no, we get that,” John said, frowning. He patted his jacket pockets, and smiled. “I’ve got a Snickers bar.”

Jack patted his jeans pockets, but shook his head.

Rodney sat up a little straighter, his eyebrows lifting.

John shook his head. “You’re not showing any symptoms just yet. We need to figure out if that thing’s gone or not.”

Jack folded his legs and his knees gave off very loud cracks. Rodney looked frankly miserable at the thought and, having seen the scientist’s natural clumsiness while running, John didn’t hold out much hope. Besides which, he’d never make a civilian – that is, a _clearly un-athletic type_ do something that he, himself, was much better suited to even after leaving the Air Force.

John sighed. He got up and stretched, then walked over to the side of the boulder where old fencing materials from a project long-gone past had been left. The materials had been spotted earlier when they’d all scouted along the edges of the boulder to make certain the worm monster couldn’t climb up and get them.

Scooting carefully down the slope of the boulder, John dug in his heel with one boot and used his other foot to snag up an old fence post. The wood was half-rotted, making it a little lighter; easy for scooping. He grabbed hold and then shifted a few feet over to a patch of smooth dirt and began tapping the ground with the fence post.

“Watch it, Sheppard,” cautioned Jack, moving to watch him. Rodney stepped up beside him. “That thing’s got a good six foot reach.”

John rolled his eyes and said desultorily, “Thank you, O’Neill.”

He slammed the fence post into the dirt—

—Jack and Rodney shouted and reached for him, caught hold of his shoulders even as John scrambled back up the rock face when the snake-tongues shot out of the dirt and wrapped around the fence post, ripping it from his hands. The tri-hook snout of the beast emerged, clamping onto the wooden plank, and easily snapped the material in half before the worm disappeared into the ground, taking the fence post with it.

“Son of a bitch!” John gasped, his heart pounding in fright.

“Son of a _goddamned_ bitch!” Jack spat, and then glanced at Rodney. “Uh… pardon my French.”

Rodney waved a hand dismissively.

“Doesn’t he have a home to go to?” Jack continued, gesturing at the hole the worm beast had made that was slowly filling in with sand.

“Shit,” John groaned, flopping back and draping an arm over his eyes. “It’s been waiting here all this time? How does it even know we’re here?”

Rodney snapped his fingers on both hands several times. John lifted his arm to look at him even as Jack turned to face the stocky man.

“It hasn’t any eyes, right?” the scientist said. “Sight organs aren’t necessary when it lives underground. So, how can it know when prey is near?” At their blank looks, Rodney sighed. “It’s _obvious_ , really—“

“Sound,” John blurted, and Rodney blinked at him. “Sight’s gone, right? Hearing would be stepped up since there’s nothing to smell under several feet of dirt.”

“Sound and vibration,” Jack said, punching a fist into a palm. “Sight and smell are off the table, taste is iffy, so that leaves hearing and touch.”

“Right!” Rodney crowed. “It senses seismic vibrations! I don’t think it can hear, since I didn’t see anything resembling ears on the other one, but sound translates to seismic vibrations! It can ‘hear’ every move we make – especially on this rock! It’s the _perfect_ conductor!”

“Which means we’re _stuck_ ,” John growled.

“Which means _I’m_ pissed off,” Jack snarled.

To that, Rodney had nothing to say – for once.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Dawn of the next day came with a chill desert wind that ruffled through John’s hair firmly enough to wake him up. He was groggy, but well-rested despite staying up half the night to talk with Jack and Rodney, and to keep an eye on McKay’s health. To his surprise, not only was he well-rested, but he was comfortably warm – considering he’d slept out in the desert without a sleeping bag on top of a _boulder_.

His next surprise was finding Rodney half-covering him. One strong arm was thrown across John while a thick thigh nestled atop his. Rodney’s head was tucked against his shoulder and Rodney’s morning wood was tucked against his hip.

John’s own morning wood was pretty okay with that.

Startled, John slid out from under the slumbering scientist and scrambled to put at least a foot of distance between them. Emerging from under the thin cover of his jacket, John curled his legs up to his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits when the cold air shocked him. With his frantic scramble away, Rodney’s snores cut off and he blearily woke up, lifting his head to look around with a numb gaze that didn’t last long.

Within moments, Rodney sat up and looked around. He looked down, saw that John’s jacket was still tucked against his chest, and glanced back at Sheppard. Seeing how cold the thinner man was, Rodney steeled his nerves and handed the jacket back to John with a muttered thank-you.

“You’re welcome,” John muttered back. “Anytime.”

He shrugged into the body-warmed black denim eagerly even as he took notice of the effect the stiff, cold breeze had on McKay’s nipples. The breeze was strong enough to flatten the man’s thin, baggy T-shirt against his chest, giving John an eyeful.

Glancing up, he saw Jack sitting higher up the boulder past Rodney’s stocky frame. O’Neill had a smirk on his face aimed directly at John. The younger man glared at his cousin, silently commanding the other man to mind his own damned business.

The smirk deepened on O’Neill’s face and the way he quirked his eyebrows let John know he might as well wish to sprout wings and fly on his own as be left alone.

“Well,” Rodney asked, stretching his hands far above his head. His spine audibly snap-crackle-popped. “What’s the plan?”

“First thing, I figure, is to check and see if Ol’ Stumpy is still out there,” Jack offered, standing up with a grunt.

John got to his feet, manfully resisting any urge to wince at sore muscles, and offered a hand to Rodney. When the stocky man stumbled up against him, John braced himself to keep McKay from falling. That his hands went to Rodney’s hips didn’t mean a damn thing.

It still meant more “Keep your mouth shut!” glaring at Jack.

Breaking the silence, John turned his attention to Rodney and pointed at the scientist’s pack that still lay on the boulder. “Mind if I borrow that shovel?”

“It’s a _spade_ , not a shovel, and what can you possibly dig – oh. Oh, no. Hey, wait!” Rodney cried out, lunging to stop Sheppard.

It was too late. John had hold of the spade and flung it out onto the desert floor. That the spade landed in the exact spot where the worm monster had apparently been taking a small nap was sheer coincidence.

All three men scowled as they watched the head of the giant carnivorous worm rear up out of the sandy floor, shift a little to the left, and slam back down to bury the spade beneath its bulk.

“Fuck,” John said succinctly.

“Don’t he have a home to go to?” Jack groused. He pulled the cigarette pack from his back pocket and patted himself down before finding the lighter in his shirt pocket. He lit two and handed one to John.

“No, he doesn’t – that’s why Edgar never got down off the damn tower!” John snapped back, taking the cigarette.

Rodney, who’d been peering down at the pile of construction materials resting within easy reach, snapped his fingers and said, “I have an idea.”

“You know, we have to come up with a plan or he’s just going to wait us to death,” Jack muttered. “McKay’s already had the Snickers bar. He’ll go first because of the hypoglycemia.”

“Oh, thank you,” Rodney groused, “but I think—“

“We’re well-rested and we know what we’re dealing with, now,” John argued. “Maybe that’ll be enough to help us outrun it?”

“I think we could—“ Rodney tried again, only to step hastily out of the way as Jack crowded in closer to John.

“Weren’t you the one yesterday who said this thing was fast as an F-15? I don’t think so, but for damn sure it’s faster than a human! We _can’t_ outrun it! Besides, running for it isn’t a plan!”

“You know better, Jack,” Sheppard countered. “Special Ops calls it ‘strategic retreat,’ but it _is_ a plan!”

“Yeah, and it’s what you do when a _real_ plan _fails!_ ”

“I don’t see any other options!”

“There’s always options! We just have to think of some!”

“So start thinking!”

Jack gave his cousin a sour look. “Why do _I_ always have to do the thinking?”

John smirked at him. “Age before beauty?”

The slap to the back of John’s head was loud and strong.

“Learned that from a Marine Gunnery Sergeant buddy of mine,” Jack said with a proud grin.

“Yeah, _great_ ,” John groused. “To answer your question: who died and made _you_ Einstein? I actually _am_ capable of—“

“You guys know how to pole vault?”

The stentorian bellow interrupted Sheppard, startling both men out of their argument. They turned to find Rodney standing behind them, holding one of the ten-foot long metal poles from the pile of abandoned construction materials.

As they watched, Rodney ran down the slope of boulder to gain momentum. One end of the slender, round pole slammed into the ground and he pushed off with his legs, sending him into an arc that landed him neatly on a smaller boulder next to the one they’d spent the night on. He pulled the pole from the ground, shrugged his shoulders to settle his backpack against his torso, and then turned to give Jack and John a smug grin.

Jack and John were gaping at him – eyes wide, mouths dropped open.

Rodney gestured to the line of boulders stretching across the ground toward the red pickup truck in the distance.

“We just stay where he can’t get us,” McKay said, his pleasure in his own genius obvious, “on these residual boulders. My truck’s parked right next to one.”

John was still staring at him even as Jack tossed his cigarette out onto the sandy floor and hurried over to the construction pile. He selected two more poles, hurried back up to where John _still_ stood staring at McKay in dumbstruck fascination, and grinned.

“Stay on those residual boulders?” Jack called across, and didn’t even mind that Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed audibly before nodding.

Jack grinned and shoved one of the poles into John’s hand, making the younger man drop his cigarette and fumble to get a grip on the new item. He smirked when John gave him a tiny glare.

“Tammy Lynn Baxter,” he said, and grinned _wide_ when John’s glare darkened. “She do much pole-vaulting like _this_ kind?”

With that, Jack leaned forward to brace one end of his pole on the ground and then tilted off the boulder, swinging slowly – too slowly – forward. He shuddered as he realized he didn’t have enough momentum and wasn’t going to make it to the next boulder.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” he yowled, and swung his legs wildly behind him to pull himself back the way he’d come.

He’d never been so grateful to hit a hard surface in his life as when his back slammed down onto the boulder he’d tried to pole-vault off of.

Looking up, he saw John standing over him, his own pole tucked against one shoulder. The younger man was smirking at him and Jack wished desperately that he had the air to spit filthy cuss words at him. He lost the opportunity as John’s attention turned away from him.

John looked to where Rodney stood at the farthest end of the next boulder, clearly ready to leap away to the third boulder in the line as soon as one of them made the jump over. Narrow-eyed, utterly determined to _not_ fail with Rodney watching him, John took a running leap off the boulder and easily swung across to the next boulder on the pole. Ahead of him, Rodney made it safely to the third boulder.

“Pretty good,” Jack called over, and John grinned at him. He moved to the end of his boulder and waited for Jack’s move.

In less than thirty seconds, the older man had landed on the rock after taking a running leap. Jack’s wince let John know his cousin’s knees weren’t feeling that great, but they’d hold for now. In that instant, though, John was never more grateful that he’d been too skinny to play any serious football when he was younger.

The next ten minutes were spent with the three of them leaping from boulder to boulder less-than-gracefully, but at least nobody splatted to the ground and got eaten. Finally, all three of them gathered on the boulder beside Rodney’s truck. Fortunately, the bed of the truck was in perfect pole-vaulting reach and uncluttered enough all three of them would be able to fit in it.

“That thing isn’t gonna give us much time once we hit the truck,” Jack observed. “I say we all jump together.”

“Right,” John agreed.

Rodney bit his lip, hesitant. “I don’t move terribly fast. How do I keep from getting eaten to get behind the wheel?”

John frowned. “I can decoy off the back end, maybe? Give it something to go after while you—“

“Negative,” Jack interrupted. “McKay: the back window on the cab – is it unlatched?”

“What? Yes, yes it is,” Rodney replied. “In fact, it won’t lock at all. It’s a second-hand vehicle and—“

“That’s nice. John, you’re the only one of us skinny enough, flexible enough, and young enough to squeeze through that opening. McKay, give him your keys. Once we hit that truck bed, John will go through the window and get the truck going. You and I will hold off the worm if it gets above ground.”

“ _Me?_ ” Rodney squeaked. “But I – I don’t – I’ve never even been in a fistfight in my life! Well, not one that I actually fought back in! I’ve been hit, beat up on, but not—“

“McKay, don’t _worry_ about it!” Jack snapped, forcing the scientist to focus on him. He could see John on the other side of the stocky man, glaring darkly. “Fight or flight is instinctive. You can’t ‘flight’, so you’ll ‘fight’ whether you know how or not.”

“But I—“

“Unless you’d rather we leave you out here on the boulder and take the truck in ourselves?”

The sheer terror in McKay’s blue eyes at the thought of being abandoned made Jack feel horrible. He wouldn’t ever actually do such a thing, but Rodney didn’t know him well enough to scoff at the idea.

John gave his cousin a furious glare and wrapped an arm around McKay’s shoulders when the scientist instinctively leaned away from O’Neill, moving closer into _his_ space.

“Easy, Rodney,” he murmured. “We’d never do that. We’re former Air Force, did you know? We took our oath to serve and protect civilians seriously.”

“But—“

“We won’t leave you behind – _I_ won’t leave you behind,” John promised. “Not ever. We’ll get you out of here, okay? Just work with us.”

“My…” Rodney swallowed hard. “My brain is really quite valuable, you know. The loss of it would be a huge detriment to the world.”

John smiled and patted the other man’s shoulder. “I’m pretty sure the loss of you _entirely_ would suck the big one, Rodney.” Wide blue eyes stared back at him, startled. “Now, c’mon: gimme the keys and we’ll get this show on the road, okay?”

Without another word, Rodney dug the truck’s keys out of his pocket and handed them over.

There was a leather fob on the metal key-ring, faded and worn and cracked, and stamped with the Canadian Maple Leaf. John clamped the fob between his teeth and nodded to the other two men and mumbled, “Ready?”

They took hold of their metal poles and set themselves.

“One,” John said around the leather between his teeth, “two… t’ree!”

In unison, the three of them leaped off the boulder and swung forward on their poles.

The clatter of three sturdy male bodies and three sturdy metal poles slamming into a pickup truck bed was loud. The fact that the vehicle bounced and rattled as they moved around, throwing aside the poles, meant there was plenty of noise and no hope of being ignored.

Just as John slammed open the sliding middle pane of the back window and wriggled through, the entire truck lifted straight up and slammed back down as Stumpy rammed up underneath the vehicle.

Dust spewed around the truck as the worm monster tried to bite the undercarriage of the truck, but couldn’t get a decent grip. Jack and Rodney steadied John, their arms anchoring his legs to keep him from being knocked around as he stretched down into the cab.

“McKay!” Jack shouted, and Rodney turned to see a snake-tongue rearing up over the side of the truck bed, heading straight for him.

He had no idea where it came from, but Rodney marveled as he watched his fist lash out and punch the snake-thing away from him so hard it _bounced_ off a corner of the truck before disappearing.

Of course, it didn’t stay gone for long.

“Shit!” Jack snarled, and swatted aside the shredded end of the maimed tongue as it flapped and flailed in his direction.

Rodney, his left arm hooked around John’s knees, made a guttural noise of distress as the snake-tongue he’d punched shot up over the truck bed and headed directly toward him. The little mouth was open and hissing, showing rows of needle-sharp teeth and slimy drool, and it was going to _get him_ , oh _God_ —

From the corner of his eye he saw a dusty red crate. He knew what was in that crate. Blindly, he reached down and curled his hand around the metal rod of a seismograph sensor. He wrenched the heavy, sensitive equipment up and slammed it down on the head of the snake-tongue, catching the thing against the rim of the truck bed.

“But I _suck_ at Whack-A-Mole!” he shouted, and struck again. The hissing tongue-thing was too quick, though, and the only thing that Rodney achieved was putting a dent into his truck and the seismograph sensor.

A second snake-tongue reared up and crashed its way through the driver’s side window. Rodney shouted and twisted around, ready to help, only to have to turn back and swing the sensor like a baseball bat when the tongue he was battling dove at him with hideous swiftness.

A moment later, the truck’s engine roared to life. With a shudder and a jolt, the vehicle lurched into motion and sped off down the sandy road toward Perfection.

Rodney gasped and let the sensor fall from his hand as he saw the puffs of dirt that signified the monster’s motion falling far behind the fishtailing truck. He flinched when a hard hand grabbed his arm and looked over, only to find Jack grinning at him in a loony fashion. So relieved he was giddy with it, Rodney giggled and grinned back.

“Uh… could somebody, perhaps, _help me?_ ” John shouted from inside the cab.

Rodney and Jack twisted around to look inside. They found John stretched uncomfortably forward, one hand pressing the gas pedal flat to the floor while the other was holding the steering wheel in an attempt to drive.

Rodney glanced back and saw that the monster’s dirt puffs had fallen even farther behind. He decided to risk it and yelled, “Slow down! Ease off the gas!”

John did as he was told and the truck slowed enough that Rodney felt comfortable with leaning over the bed of the truck to yank on the driver’s side door handle. Once the door was cracked open, he shifted and wriggled, trying to slide over the edge and into the cab without touching the ground. He whined at the stretch of his thigh muscles and the bruises he could feel being gouged into his flesh, but he managed to get into position so he could stand on the runner board below the door. Reaching in, he grabbed hold of the wheel, holding the truck steady, and waited as Jack shoved on John’s legs. The skinny man heaved himself forward, twisting and rolling to get out of the way as Rodney scooted his ass into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed.

He grimaced at the bite of glass against his backside, but he couldn’t stop to sweep the seat clean. He took hold of the wheel with both hands and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, bringing the truck back up to high speed and sending it flying over the ground toward the tiny little town of Perfection.

He glanced over as John grunted and wriggled, but finally untangled himself and sat upright in the seat, gasping for breath. “You okay, Sheppard?”

“Yeah,” John said, breathless. He slouched against the seat, boneless with relief. His eyes were closed, he was damp with exertion, and his mouth was open to allow him to catch his breath.

Rodney thought it was a highly inappropriate time for certain parts of him to take notice.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about it long as Jack shoved his head and shoulders through the window.

“Don’t let up on the gas for a minute,” he ordered, his expression grim. “We’ve gotta get back to Perfection and warn everybody.”

Rodney chose not to reply. He simply tightened his grip on the steering wheel and drove.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Mindy looked up from playing with the small silo and dump truck sand loading toy set when the growl of a truck engine caught her attention. Looking down the length of the town’s only blacktop road, she saw Mister Rodney’s bright red pickup truck hurtling into town at top speed. She blinked when the truck suddenly swerved into the sandy parking lot of Chang’s Market and slid to a halt hard enough to spray dust and dirt in a big cloud. When it stopped, Mister Rodney got out, but to her delight: so did Jack and John! He was back!

She almost got up and ran over to join them, but then recalled that the last time she’d spoken with Mister Rodney, he’d said she should pogo as long as possible to get the number up as high as possible because that would _really_ impress him. She’d been so excited that someone other than John would _be_ impressed by her pogo-ing that she’d run off immediately. But the number still wasn’t very high – only 682 – and she wanted to make _at least_ 700 before she talked to him again.

Abandoning her toys, she went for her pogo stick and Walkman.

 

*~*~*

 

Jack hopped out of the truck bed with a groan while John and Rodney hurried out of the cab. 

“Nestor! Nancy!” O’Neill called out, seeing the two standing in Nancy’s yard, watching them curiously. “Come on over to Chang’s!”

They immediately began moving to join the three men.

John looked at them, then at Rodney, and finally at Jack as he said, “I’m gonna go round up everyone else. I’ll meet you back here.”

Jack tossed him the keys to Ol’ Puddlejumper in reply. John caught them and turned to run off. He stopped when Rodney clamped a strong hand around his arm.

“Be careful,” the scientist said, giving him a somber look.

John smirked, offered a sarcastic salute, and took off running toward his and Jack’s truck as soon as McKay let go.

They watched him go, and then Jack and Rodney both hunkered down to look under the truck to assess the damage. Rodney grimaced at the sight of dented and scraped metal.

“We’re lucky it still runs,” he muttered. “That thing came damnably close to the hydraulics.”

He and Jack got up on their feet. They got onto the wooden sidewalk running along the front of Chang’s Market and headed toward the door.

“Bet you’re sorry that college sent you up here,” Jack said, trying to joke and lighten things up a bit.

Rodney blinked and looked at him. After a moment, he frowned and said, “I’m scared, certainly. Any intelligent person with a sense of self-preservation would be. But I’m not _sorry_ I’m here.”

“Well… okay, then. Hey, listen.” Jack reached out and pulled Rodney to a halt, quickly letting go when blue eyes glared coldly at O’Neill’s hand. “John-boy was right: I’d never have left you behind. I just… wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you.” The words were glacial in tone.

Jack frowned and looked away for a moment, and then back at McKay with a grin. “You know, Sheppard being Air Force… they don’t let just any dumb grunt fly multimillion dollar planes and helicopters.”

“Really? I’d have thought otherwise,” Rodney sneered.

“Whatever. It means John’s smart enough to keep up with you. He made it through college himself. Sure, he’s only got a couple of Masters—“

“In what?”

“Applied Mathematics and Aeronautical Engineering. Fuck all knows how he managed to sit still long enough to get the degrees done; he’s so full of piss and vinegar. Not that you’d ever know it, given the way he slouches and slumps on every surface he comes across.”

Rodney blinked, absolutely shocked. “He’s… that’s… that’s—“

“He took the Mensa test,” Jack continued. “He passed; flying-colors passed. I mean, he didn’t join, but he totally nailed the test. He did it just for fun.”

Rodney gaped.

“He left the Air Force because the higher ups nearly dishonorably discharged him for trying to save lives,” Jack said, and watched Rodney pale significantly. “He tried his best; wasn’t his fault the team he bucked orders for was already dead. But the fact that the brass was more concerned about losing a _helicopter_ than a team of human beings totally pissed him off. That they tried to dishonorably discharge him, rather than serve him a Big Chicken Dinner because one of the guys he tried to rescue, well… Johnny was closer to him than the USMCJ said he was allowed to be.”

Rodney’s eyes widened. After a moment, he managed to stammer, “Big… Big Chicken Dinner?”

“Bad Conduct Discharge,” Jack explained. “It’s not as bad as a Dishonorable Discharge, which is considered the most shameful and gets a service member stripped of all veteran benefits and loss of civil rights, including the ability to own and carry a gun.”

“John…?”

Jack shook his head. “Are you listening to me, McKay? John _didn’t_ get one of those. He didn’t even get a BCD. He left after all was said and done ‘cause it stuck in his craw. Stuck in mine, too. And it only got worse when his dad told him to conform or get out. That’s why we’re out here in BFE, Nevada.”

“’BFE’?”

“’Bum-Fuck-Egypt’. It’s mil-slang for ‘middle of nowhere’. Look, that’s not the point.”

“What _is_ the point?” Rodney demanded to know. “Never mind the sudden avalanche of military abbreviations – why are you telling me his private history without, I’m certain, his consent?”

Jack glared at him. “The point _is_ : John’s a good kid; a good _guy_ , I should say. A good man; good enough for you.”

Rodney’s mouth dropped open. “Excusemehellowhat?”

O’Neill sighed. “I get that I’m about as subtle as a tap-dancing elephant, but you strike me as a guy who appreciates straight-talk. John’s bisexual. He likes you. He’s got the smarts to keep up with you.”

It took a few tries, but eventually Rodney managed to say, “He’s… he’s _interested_ in… in _me?_ ”

“If by ‘interested’ you mean ‘practically in heat,’ then yeah: he’s interested in you. Last time I saw him get that ‘interested’ that fast, I had to pull him away before he started openly humping the test plane he’d caught a glimpse of.”

Jack grinned when McKay snorted a laugh. He turned and reached for the screen door that would let him into the shop, but stopped at Rodney’s hand on his arm.

“Why are you telling me all this?” the scientist asked, his blue eyes narrowed in a suspicious expression.

Jack smirked. “You’re Canadian.” With that, he pulled open the door, bellowed Chang’s name, and stepped in – leaving Rodney staring in bemused fascination behind him.

 

*~*~*

 

“No, no, no!” John growled, angrily crushing a cigarette amidst the remains of four others in an ashtray. He looked up at the people surrounding the table he, Jack, and Rodney sat at. Over by the window, Walter called incessantly through the CB for Bert and Heather to pick up the call. “The snakes are just their _tongues_ or… or their _food grabbers_ , or whatever. The animals themselves are _huge!_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Nancy said, her voice soft with shock, “but I’m having a hard time believing this.”

“I don’t blame ya,” Jack replied as he squirted ketchup onto his plate. “I don’t wanna believe it, either, but that’s the way of it. We damn near got eaten by those things. I’m pretty sure the horses didn’t make it.”

He stood up, then, and called out, “What’s up, Walter?”

Chang turned to look at him. With a grimace, he hung up the radio mike and began making his way toward the table that everyone was grouped at.

“I can’t reach ‘em!” he said, disgusted and worried. “They must still be driving around out there somewhere.”

Miguel leaned over Jack’s shoulder. “Hey, Rodney! What’s the name you call these things?”

McKay, his mouth stuffed with sandwich, looked up to frown at the cattle rancher. His glare transferred to Walter when the fat little man leaned over John’s shoulder and demanded to know, “Yeah, where do they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Rodney replied around a mouthful of sandwich.

“You’re a scientist, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Melvin piped up from where he sat at the small kitchen counter, eating gummy worms. “Aren’t you supposed to have a theory or somethin’?”

Irritated, Rodney swallowed the food in his mouth and sneered, “Oh, yes, because ‘scientist’ is actually a special word meaning ‘knows all, sees all.’ That’s why your higher power is known as the Almighty Scientist, instead of Almighty God or Yahweh or whatever.”

“Doctor McKay,” Nancy said, quietly reproving.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yes, fine. Look, these creatures are absolutely unprecedented.”

“Yeah,” Nestor said, his tone implying that he thought Rodney was being dense on purpose. “But where do they _come from?_ ”

McKay’s eyes bulged. After a moment, he looked across at John and asked, “Is he being serious?”

“What’s that mean?” Nestor argued.

John sighed and took a long pull from an open beer bottle. “Unprecedented means ‘never done or known before’, Nestor. McKay thinks you’re making fun of him.”

Nestor’s face turned an ugly dark red color as he realized how ignorant he appeared to the scientist.

“It doesn’t matter where they come from,” Jack interrupted. “Only thing matters is what we’re gonna do about ‘em.”

“No name… huh!” Chang muttered. “We discovered them, we should name them!”

Angrily flicking the lighter closed after igniting another cigarette, John snapped, “Walter, forget the damn name!” He glanced around at everyone else and said, “I think we’d all be better off getting the hell out of this damn valley.”

“Now, hang on, Sheppard,” Nestor growled. “There’s no need to go off half-cocked!”

At that, John pushed himself out of his seat and walked away to the back of the store.  
Jack stood up a moment later, grabbed his beer and John’s, and followed his cousin.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Nancy confessed. “The road is out, the lines are down… somebody from the big city will come check on us!”

“Yeah, that’s how it works!” Nestor agreed, eager to sound knowledgeable.

“Yes, of course they will,” Rodney also agreed. His smile was mocking. “And then they’ll send another team when the first team goes missing. And a third team to find the second team, and a _fourth_ team to find the _third_ team—“

Nancy made a distressed sound and covered her ears. Miguel put his hand on her shoulder in a protective, comforting gesture.

Rodney sighed and shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry, but the truth of the matter is that anyone who comes from Bixby is dead on arrival, and that’s that. We have no way of warning them of what’s out here.”

That sobered up the rest of the Perfection residents enough that they stopped pestering McKay, allowing him to finish his lunch in peace.

John made his way behind the countertop in the small luncheon area. He paced, smoking, while Jack browsed the shelves more out of boredom than anything else. Walter moved to join Melvin, taking the jar of gummy worms away from the teenager and soliciting his help in trying to come up with a name.

“Suckoids!” Melvin offered, leaning over to watch Chang scribble on some loose paper. He recognized a few of the characters being written down. Being left on his own in Perfection a lot, he hung out with Chang the most and was slowly picking up some Chinese here and there.

“Oids!” Walter agreed, and Melvin grinned. “Oids… I like… I like… _Snakeoids!_ ”

Melvin laughed and bent to draw a hideously fanged, venom-dripping snake on the paper.

“One of ‘em comes near me,” Nestor groused, popping open a fresh can of Pepsi, “I’ll just hit it with a five-pound pick axe.”

“No, Nestor, you don’t understand,” Jack argued. “They come up from underneath the ground and they grab you – too hard, too fast. There’s no time to fight back if they don’t give you a chance.”

“They sense the slightest vibration _through the ground_ – even footsteps,” Rodney added for emphasis. “That’s how they hunt.”

“Hey, so, like… we don’t vibrate, right?” Miguel suggested, looking hopeful. “Maybe they won’t even come through here. Maybe they’ll leave us alone!”

He completely missed seeing John’s ‘Are you serious, dude?’ look aimed his way.

“Chainsaw!” Nestor said, pounding the table with his fist. “That’s what I’ll use!”

“Hey!” John shouted, losing his last bit of patience. Him losing his cool was so odd that everyone turned to look at him. “Hey, hey, _hey!_ Wake _up!_ ”

“Sheppard—“ Jack began, but John shook his head.

“Now, look,” the younger man said, and abruptly vaulted over the countertop in a lithe slide of legs and hips that made Rodney very glad he didn’t have anything in his mouth to choke on.

He watched John storm over to the wall, rip the map of Perfection Valley off the nearest wall, and bring it over to the table.

John slammed the map down on the table and glared at everyone. “Do you see? They’re headed _right for us!_ ”

Everyone gathered around to watch as he pointed at locations on the map.

“They trapped Edgar here,” he growled, jabbing his finger at the place where the electrical tower was on the map. “They got Ol’ Fred here, nailed those two poor suckers on the road _here_ , and the doctor’s place is _right here!_ ”

The route his finger took led him along the main road. At the end of the route was the tiny little town center of Perfection.

“This valley is just one long smorgasbord,” John said quietly. He met everyone’s gaze in turn. “We have _got to get out_.”

Nobody moved or spoke for several long seconds. Then, fear evident in her voice, Nancy left the market while saying, “I’m going to go get Mindy.”

“Oh, she’s okay,” Melvin said, following her with his basketball tucked under one arm. “I saw her playing down the street.”

Everyone watched them go in silence that was unbroken until Walter suddenly said, “That’s what I like: _Grab_ oids!”

John flung his hands into the air and whirled away, completely disgusted. Jack sighed and cracked open another beer as he muttered, “Jesus, Walter.”

“Gonna be sorry we don’t give it a name,” Chang replied with a smirk. He was a businessman. He knew the importance of naming something first and naming it well.

“Okay, John,” Nestor said, directing his attention to the ex-Air Force pilot. “You say we need to get out. Where are we supposed to go?”

Sheppard sighed and muttered a silent prayer of thanks that Nestor wasn’t as thick as he’d seemed to be. He turned to face the other man and said, “Well… Rodney’s got an idea about that.”

All attention turned to the scientist.

Rodney grinned. “Yeah! See, they move _very_ , very easily through Pleistocene alluvials.” He trailed off at the blank looks he was receiving. “Right, yes: remember to speak in layman’s terms. The _dirt_ is what I mean; the loose soil that covers the valley floor! But, they _can’t_ move through rock. That’s why we need to head West to the mountains.”

“He means up the old Jeep trail,” Jack called out from where he’d paced to the far side of the store, near an open window.

“Those mountains are solid granite, right? We’d be safe there and can hike along them all the way to Bix—“

A horrific scream from Melvin interrupted him. He leaped halfway out of his chair, followed by Nestor as everyone tensed and turned to where Jack was already in motion, his beer dropping to the floor as he prepared to run for the door.

He grunted as Melvin’s basketball came in through the open window and slammed into his gut, making him stagger as he fumbled his hands around the ball. Melvin’s obnoxious laugh followed the ball.

“Scared ya, didn’t I?” the teenager taunted from the sandy yard outside.

“You little asswipe!” Jack snarled. He stormed over to the window and hurled the basketball back out the window at Melvin’s head, making the teenager duck in a hurry. “You do that again, you’ll be _shittin’_ this basketball!”

Melvin glared at him as the basketball sailed just barely over his head. After a moment, he turned and followed the ball as it bounced and rolled away.

Inside Chang’s Market, Jack turned with a huff and glared at the rest of them as he snapped, “Pardon my French!”

“Ça, ce n'est pas français,” John replied perfectly in French, smirking.

“What?” Nestor and Miguel asked at the same time.

“’That was not French’,” translated Jack, Rodney, and Walter.

Everyone else turned to look at Walter in surprise.

He snorted and glared at them. “What? I’m Chinese; that means I can’t know a thing?”

Eyes rolled all around, and then conversation returned to the topic at hand.

"Okay, so saying you make it to the old Jeep trail," Nestor said. "Even if you do, it'll take you _days_ to make it back here with help. Bixby's only thirty-some miles away, but there's hiking along the trail, getting into Bixby, getting help, getting anyone to _believe_ you...."

Jack walked over and clamped a hand onto Nestor's shoulder. When the man looked up at him, Jack said, "Hey, Nestor, take it easy – we won't leave anybody behind."

Before anyone could say anything else, Melvin's horrified scream once again ripped through the air.

John immediately turned on his heel and stormed toward the front door. "That tears it! I'm kickin' that little twerp's ass up between his shoulder-blades!"

"And _I'm_ gonna help ya!" Jack declared.

The two of them made it out to the side yard where Chang kept his tool shed of personal equipment. Behind them, Rodney, Chang, Nestor, and Miguel followed – mostly to see how bad the ass-kicking would be or if it would actually happen. Melvin was such a wimp that more than likely he'd piss himself and pass out as soon as the two seasoned soldiers got up in his face.

"Where is the little shit stain?" Jack growled, looking around. "I tell ya, Shep, it's times like these I wonder if I'd have survived Charlie bein' a teenager!"

"You'd have done fine," John snapped back. "Charlie wasn't a useless punk like – Melvin!" He craned his head back as he heard a sharp sob from above. He bared his teeth up at the teenager that sat atop a burnt-out light pole, clinging to the frame with all of his strength. "Get your scrawny ass down—"

He cut off abruptly as he realized that Melvin was pale, shaking wildly, and his right pants leg was torn open below the knee and stained with blood.

He and Jack stared at each other in shock and reached the same conclusion at the same time.

It didn't actually _stop_ the worm monster from bursting up through the dirt in front of them.

Everyone scrambled back, screaming in horror. Jack and John just barely managed to avoid the snake-tongues that lashed out, trying to catch prey.

"Run!" Jack bellowed, grabbing hold of John by the collar and hurling him to where Rodney stood at the end of the sidewalk. "Get inside! _Go!_ "

John was struggling against Rodney's attempt to pull him back toward the front door of the store, refusing to budge until he saw Jack was moving. A moment later, he sputtered with indignation and turned to shove Rodney along the sidewalk as Jack ran past them so fast he was almost a blur. Nestor made it across the street to his trailer, bolting inside, while Melvin took the opportunity of the worm's distraction to leap down from the light pole and scramble into the nearby utility shed for shelter.

Inside Chang's store, Walter and Miguel were herded into a corner between shelving units. Rodney was shoved in with them, and then Jack and John crammed themselves in as well, turning to face outwards in a protective gesture. It was useless against monsters that lived and lurked underground, but it was all they had.

"Walter, you got a gun?" Jack demanded to know.

"No!" Chang shouted back, utterly terrified. "What are we going to do? What are we gonna _do?_ "

" _Quiet!_ " McKay bellowed, shocking them all to silence, and then shut up himself.

The five of them stood utterly still (if frightened trembles didn't count), barely breathing as they listened for any sign of activity from the Graboid.

"Where is he?" Miguel hissed, unable to remain silent.

John turned and made a throat-cutting gesture at him and scowled. Miguel muttered something and then went silent.

"No noise," Rodney said, his voice low in sound but clear in words. "No vibrations."

The other four men nodded, agreeing.

Unfortunately, little Mindy Sterngood hadn't gotten that memo.

Five faces paled as the distinctive sound of Mindy's pogo-stick bouncing along reached their ears. They all looked at each other, and then there was a half-assed attempt at being stealthy as all five men tried to scramble quietly for the door and out onto the sidewalk.

"No, Mindy!" John groaned, seeing the little girl several yards away. Her blonde ponytail was flicking up and down through the air with every hop on the squeaky old toy.

"Mindy! _Mindy!_ " Walter and Miguel tried to whisper-call to her. "Get off the pogo-stick!"

"It's no good!" Rodney spat. "She's wearing her headphones – oh, no."

Dirt puffed visibly as the Graboid moved out from under Chang's store. The direction of the dirt puff was on course for Mindy.

In a flash, John took off. He put every ounce of his strength into his legs, running as hard and as fast as he could towards the little girl. Behind, he heard the faint cry of "Get her, John-boy!" but he never lost his focus. He had to get there, he had to get there, he had to be first, please, _please_ —

He leaped and tackled Mindy off her pogo-stick. She screamed and struggled against him as he landed up against the fence that surrounded the Sterngood property. A moment later, Nancy was crouched beside them, having run toward them as soon as she'd seen John racing toward her daughter.

"Be quiet!" John snarled, and the two females went still and silent at his tone. "Don't move!"

They followed his gaze to where the pogo-stick stood upright only a few feet away in full defiance of the laws of gravity. Before either of them could say a thing, the pogo-stick vanished straight down into the ground in a gush of dust and sound.

"Oh, my God!" Nancy whimpered, and began dragging her daughter farther backwards towards an opening in the fence. "Mindy, get back!"

John also scrambled backwards. He had to get on his feet, get _them_ on their feet, before the thing could—

All three shouted in fright as the pogo-stick was suddenly launched up through the dirt like a missile – from several feet _behind_ them.

The three of them split up: Nancy and Mindy running for their front door while John took off toward Ol' Puddlejumper, which was parked nearby. He leaped up and scrambled onto the still-packed bed, and from there to the top of the cab. The Graboid powered up under Ol' Puddlejumper, hitting the truck so hard that it knocked John flat onto his front, banging his chin off the metal roof.

Miguel and Walter latched onto Jack and Rodney, clamping down when the two men shouted and started toward the truck.

"No, don't!" Chang cried.

"You can't!" Miguel shouted. "You on the ground, man! It'll go after _you_ , instead!"

"Get off me!" Jack roared. "I gotta – he's gotta get off there! It'll suck that truck down!"

John waved an arm violently. His scream of "Go back, for Chrissake!" reached them easily, as did the sight of him having to cling for dear life as the Graboid nearly tipped the truck over trying to get to him.

Rodney broke free of Chang's hold and ran flat-out along the sidewalk, out onto the sandy ground. Jack was right behind him, having shaken Miguel off. Both men froze when a sharp bang of metal to their right caught their attention. In horror, they saw a dirt puff trail heading toward them and sheet metal fencing buckling as a Graboid tunneled toward them even though John was still in danger from the one under the truck.

"Jesus, another one!" Jack shouted, recoiling.

"We knew there were four in total!" Rodney shouted back.

"Come on: run!"

Rodney thought it was an excellent idea and turned to do so. The problem was that he went the wrong way. Instead of following Jack back toward Chang's store, he turned toward the utility shed where Melvin stood in the doorway, watching. Even if it meant being trapped with _Melvin_ , at least it would be shelter he could reach in time!

Or would have, if he hadn't tripped and gotten hooked by barbed wire someone had left lying in the dirt.

Rodney hit the ground with a heavy thud, the wind knocked right out of him. He rolled over, gasping for breath, and as he did so, the barbed wire turned with him, curving over his ankles and hooking into the hems of his jeans legs. He groaned again, and then shouted in terror as the ground heaved up beneath him in a violent mound. He rolled away before the Graboid's snout broke the surface, but the roll caused the barbed wire to twine even more around his lower legs, shackling him into fatal immobility. He tried to kick free and then froze, scared stiff at the sight of three snake-tongues extending toward him with shrill hisses.

Melvin slammed the door of the utility shed shut, hiding from the reality of monsters.

Jack wrenched the door to Chang's store nearly off its hinges as he made his way inside, and then ran for the barrel of tools for sale in the back of the store. He began yanking garden rakes and flimsy spades aside in the search for a weapon that would leave an impact.

John watched from atop Ol' Puddlejumper – which was still bucking and heaving as the Graboid tried to get to him – as Rodney tried to get free of the barbed wire. With every jerk and twist of the wire, an old piece of wood it was twined around slapped and thumped against the ground. The snake-tongues went for that, first; curled around it and pulled, dragging the scientist closer toward the Graboid's maw. Rodney shouted with fright and rolled onto his front, trying to crawl away, but there was nothing for him to grab onto. 

John grabbed the nearest thing he could reach from the pile of stuff in the bed of the truck and hurled it. The toaster hit the ground and rolled, but not close enough to distract the Graboid from the meal that was almost in its grasp. It cracked and tore apart the piece of wood, and then began reeling Rodney closer to its mouth.

Rodney's shriek of terror was more than John could take. Quickly calculating, he grabbed a pick axe from the tool barrel settled in the corner by the cab of the truck. Then, he picked up a duffle bag of old laundry and hurled it away from the truck. It hit the ground a few feet away and disappeared within seconds in a puff of dust as the Graboid took the bait.

It was all the time John needed to leap down from the truck and run over to the monster that nearly had Rodney in its grasp. With a battle cry, John hefted and swung, burying one end of the lethally sharp tool in the top of the worm's head.

The Graboid responded by swinging around and slamming its bony, tri-hook snout into John's ribs, sending him flying before using one of its tongues to begin working the pick axe loose from the worm's head.

John decided it was sufficiently distracted. He scrambled over to where Rodney was trying to pull the barbed wire away from his legs, took one look at the situation, and then snarled, "Get out of your pants!"

Rodney let out an indignant squawk. "Are you out of your _mind?_ I realize you're attracted to me and rightly so, because I'm the catch of a lifetime, but now is _not_ the time and just _stop_ that!"

John didn't stop yanking Rodney's sneakers off as he shouted, "To get _loose_ , you idiot! No time!"

"I'm a _genius_ , thank you, and I so knew that's what you meant!" McKay retorted, lying back to work his belt open so he could unfasten his jeans.

"Yeah, right," John muttered, and then lashed out with vicious kick that knocked a snake-tongue away. The Graboid had worked the pick axe out of its head and was renewing its attempts to devour Rodney.

Fortunately, Jack ran up to them at that point and landed the sharpened edge of a standard axe in the Graboid's head. Once again, the monster had to deal with knocking away an attacker and digging the weapon out of its head.

"I already tried that!" John shouted to his cousin as he grabbed hold of Rodney's jeans and yanked them down his hips and thighs. "All it does is piss 'em off!"

"Now ya tell me!" Jack howled, and scrambled out of the way as the axe was worked free and flung back at him by a snake-tongue.

John paused at the sight of Rodney's boxers: bright blue and decorated with Superman shields. He looked up to find Rodney glaring at him.

"Would you mind mocking me _later?_ " he snapped. "Say, when I'm not in mortal peril?!"

"You're not – oh, shit!"

He yanked the jeans the rest of the way down Rodney's legs, unable to keep the sharp tips of the barbs of the wire from cutting into Rodney's skin, but it was acceptable as a result of getting the other man out of the way of the Graboid coming back for its dinner. He crawled around, got behind Rodney, and pulled with all of his strength just as the snake-tongues caught hold of McKay's blue jeans and yanked. The material shredded apart as the tongues fought each other to get a good grip on the jeans, but at least Rodney was free.

The two men scrambled backward, Rodney tucked into the vee of John's legs and held tight to John's chest, and then dirt and discarded lumber erupted behind them with the arrival of the Graboid that had been under the truck.

Shouting, the two scrambled up onto their feet and just barely got out of the way of the two healthy and whole snake-tongues Stumpy hurled at them.

Jack, by now back on the wooden sidewalk, waved his arm in a 'hurry up' gesture. "Come on, run, _run!_ "

John and Rodney made it to the sidewalk and ran for the door, Jack behind them. The sound of wood clunking in a consistent pattern caught their attention and they looked behind them to see the loose wooden planks rippling up from the ground in a sine wave as Stumpy chased after them.

Not even bothering to scream at this point, the three men ran _faster_ and just made it into the store and the safety of solid wood flooring before Stumpy could catch up to them.

 

*~*~*

 

Rodney hissed with pain as iodine was dripped onto one of the cuts on his legs. Several of them had already been treated and bandaged. He looked up from John’s steady hands to see the other man wincing, biting on his lower lip and glancing sheepishly at him from beneath his eyelashes.

Rodney wanted to complain vociferously about how unfair it was for a single human being to be so hot, so adorable, and so – so – so _everything_ when they were in a fight for their lives.

“Sorry,” John mouthed, careful to keep from making noise even as he bent to blow cool air across the stinging cut.

Rodney felt his heart thump as he watched Sheppard work. The tips of John’s ridiculously pointy ears were _right there_ , and he wanted to bend down and tease them with the tip of his tongue. To distract himself, he turned his face away only to be met with the sight of Jack O’Neill smirking around the cigarette in his mouth. Embarrassed, Rodney hunched his shoulders and turned his face in the other direction, his fair skin blushing red.

John looked up at the movement. Seeing Rodney hiding in embarrassment, he glanced over and saw Jack looking at him. The older man raised his eyebrows with a very knowing look on his face.

John snapped the cap back on the iodine, taped another bandage over the cut, and quietly walked away.

Rodney covered his face with his hands and stifled the gusty sigh he wanted to let out. He was a _talker_ ; he talked to think, to explain, to calm his nerves. This forced silence was killing him!

A nudge to his sock-covered feet made him flinch and drop his hands. He gave Miguel a watery smile even as the other man whispered, “Rodney, here,” and handed over a pair of heavy denim jeans and cheap tennis shoes.

Rodney grimaced a little; the material of the jeans was stiff and starchy, and would be certain to aggravate his skin. He was _so_ going to chafe. The shoes had _zero_ arch support to them. God, his feet and legs were going to cramp for sure! He only hoped it didn’t happen while he was running for his life, because that was surely going to happen.

Still, he knew better than to complain. A hick town like Perfection, that boasted a population of twelve – no, eight; the Wallaces, Old Fred, and Edgar were now gone, plus the two road workers from Bixby. At any rate: a hick town with a general store run by a spendthrift like Chang was not going to be stocked with what _he_ considered essentials.

“Thanks,” he mouthed at Miguel, and again at Walter as he lifted the clothing. The smiles he was given actually made him feel a little better, and so Rodney climbed down off the table he’d been sitting on top of to begin getting dressed.

Miguel wandered over to where Jack sat and took a chair opposite him. “So, what’re we gonna do?” he whispered. “How long ‘til they go away?”

Jack snorted and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He picked up the new axe – one of the only two Walter had in stock – and inspected the edge. “They got the patience of Job, Miguel. They sit on a spot and wait until they hear somethin’ that sounds like lunch.”

At Miguel’s crestfallen look, Jack got up and patted his shoulder as he walked past to go join John at the lunch counter.

“So, what’s the plan?” John teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t have one yet,” Jack replied, barely audible.

“I got a plan!” Walter hissed, leaning over the counter. “You and Jack drive the truck to the mountain, walk to Bixby, get us some help!”

“Walter,” John whispered back, glaring, “those fucking things _ate_ our radials! We’d get caught by _snails_ , never mind Graboids!”

Walter looked upset for a moment, and then smirked. “Knew they needed a name. Was I right or was I right?”

He shrank back a little at the strong glares from Jack and John, but kept grinning.

“Psst!” Rodney hissed from where he was doing up the fly of his new jeans. When they glanced over, he whispered, “You can take _my_ truck!”

Jack shook his head. “Thanks, but won’t work. We need a major four-wheel drive just to get up that Jeep trail. It starts out on the floor and gets rougher the closer you get to the mountain.”

Miguel sighed. “That trail’s all messed up. Never cleared it after that last big storm, y’know?”

Before anyone could say anything in response to that, a shrill squealing noise started up as the old refrigeration unit decided to make its presence known. Everyone whipped around to stare at it in horror as it began shaking and juddering, its old motor straining to work as best it could.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" Miguel cried, even as Jack, John, and Walter charged over to the machine.

John leaped atop it, trying to get his arm down behind, while Jack and Walter hurled away cases of soda cans stacked in front of the machine.

"Pull it back!" John snapped. "Pull it back!"

The last of the soda cases were slung out of the way, and Jack and Walter got a good grip on the heavy piece of metal. They lunged backward, dragging the refrigerator with them just far enough that John could get his arm down behind and yank the plug out of the socket. With a gurgling wheeze, the refrigerator shut down.

"Ha!" John laughed, waving the plug.

And that's when the Graboid burst up through the floor.

The impact of the massive worm shattered weathered old floorboards in several directions. Rodney screamed as he and Miguel ducked splinters.

Walter screamed as the sharp needle teeth of Stumpy's two fully intact tongues dug hard and strong into his back.

Jack and John roared with fury as they lunged forward, trying to help their friend. Blood spurted from Walter's nose and mouth, turning his screams wet as well as agonized. Miguel ran to help with Rodney hot on his heels.

"Your hands!" he shrieked. "Give us your hands!"

Stumpy reeled its tongues back in, swallowing Walter up to the waist even as he continued screaming, clawing desperately toward his friends. When Rodney and Miguel caught hold of him and started to pull him out, Stumpy swung hard to the side, knocking Rodney and Miguel off their feet. Jack and John, shouting, tried to catch hold of Walter, but it was too late.

Stumpy slid back down into the earth, taking Walter with it – and the man's muffled screams silenced abruptly two seconds later.

Rodney gagged, fighting back the urge to vomit. He'd never seen someone he knew die so violently, so horribly.

He wasn't the only one affected. Still perched atop the refrigerator, John glared at the hole in the floor with tears in his eyes. Beside him, Jack stood panting and looking torn between throwing up and killing everything in a fifty mile radius.

"Son of a bitch!" John screamed, furious, and powered up onto his hands and knees. "Son of a _biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!_ "

And that's when the second Graboid burst up through the floor behind the lunch counter.

Once again: wooden splinters, sand, and dirt hurled through the air as a massive worm reared up into the building. It crashed back down, widening the hole it had made, and tunneled beneath the floor toward Rodney. The stocky scientist let out a shriek and quickly climbed up the sturdy, white wood shelves that Walter had stocked his goods on. He crouched at the top, staring in horrified fascination as the second Graboid's tongues began slithering their way up toward him with hissing screams.

Over on the refrigeration unit, now joined by Miguel and Jack, John stared at Rodney's predicament and then searched wildly around for a high point for himself and the others. The nearest floor-to-ceiling shelving unit conveniently led to the trap door that went up onto the roof of the store.

"C'mon!" he shouted, whacking Jack's leg to get his attention. "The roof!"

He led the way up onto the shelves, followed by Miguel and then Jack. Rodney saw where they were going and he leaped from the shelves he was on to the next one, thankful for Walter's greed that had made the shop owner pack as many shelves in together to get more stuff in. It meant there was less distance for him to have to jump as he made his way over, leaping across the shelves, trying to get to a position where he could follow the others up to the trap door.

However, the Graboid sensed its prey was escaping. Bracing two snake-tongues under the bottom shelf, it tipped the heavy wooden frame over so that it crashed into the next shelf – which then crashed into the _next_ shelf, and so on; a domino of shelving units that toppled hard and fast toward the last one, where Rodney perched.

John stared in horror at the unfolding catastrophe. His throat went dry and locked tight, preventing him from saying anything, but Jack found his voice to yell, " _Jump_ , Rodney! Over here! Come on, you can do it!"

Rodney, utterly terrified, curled down onto the shelf he was perched on. He gripped tight, thinking (hoping) that maybe his concentrated weight and his desperation would keep him safe.

The shelving unit beside him tipped over and crashed hard into his. With a scream, Rodney was hurled down and to the side – directly through the window that he'd been perched beside.

He disappeared from view in a shower of glass, out onto the sandy dirt floor.

Terrified, John climbed the shelves and punched the door open. He finally found his voice as he climbed up through, bellowing, "Rodney! _McKay!_ Keep moving, you hear?! Keep going, don't stop!"

He scrambled up onto the roof and raced for the edge the window had been on. Looking down, he saw shattered glass and canned goods scattered on the sandy floor – but no Rodney.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, bile creeping up his throat. "No, please no, not Rodney..."

"Hey!"

The shout from a few yards away startled John into looking up. There, Rodney was climbing up the rickety old wood ladder that led to the town's only water tower. Blue eyes gleamed from a dusty face, but not as bright as Rodney's "yay I didn't get eaten!" smile.

John's knees weakened for a moment. He let his head sag down on a relieved sigh, braced by his palms and arms on the wooden ledge of the general store. When he felt he could move, he straightened up and smiled at the other man as Rodney ascended to the water tower's platform and fell up against the water barrel's side, panting for breath.

"You okay?" John called over.

Rather than make a verbal reply, Rodney grinned at him and offered a thumb's up.

John snorted a laugh and finally turned to check on Miguel and Jack - forgotten in his rush to check on Rodney. They were fine; both men safely atop the roof with the trap door firmly closed.

"Hey! What's goin' on? Where are you guys?"

The faint sound of Melvin's voice caught their attention. John flashed a "one moment" gesture at Rodney, and then followed Jack and Miguel to the opposite side of the roof. They all looked down to find Melvin leaning out of his little shack, glaring up at them with petulant worry.

"What's up, man?" Melvin called to Miguel. "What the hell are you doing up there?!"

Miguel made a shushing noise at him and then stage-whispered: "Melvin! Shut – the – hell – _up!_ Get up on your _roof!_ "

Melvin sneered. "What? No way, dude! It's a hundred degrees out! I don't wanna fry in the su— _oh, my God!_ "

He screamed as a Graboid tunneled up through the floor behind him. Scrambling, he leaped up and caught the edge of the shack's roof. Bracing with his feet in the tiny window, he heaved and wriggled until he lay flopped and panting on the tin roof of the small shack.

Beneath him, the Graboid roared as its prey escaped its reach, and lashed out to dent the corrugated metal walls.

Melvin shuddered and closed his eyes, relaxing minutely when he realizing the shack was staying up and the monster couldn't get him.

The four men watching him also breathed a brief sigh of relief, and then turned their attention to calling the Sterngoods and Nestor; shouting across the dirt road to their homes to try to get them to safety.

 

*~*~*

 

The first inkling that any of the terrified group in town had that Bert and Heather were back was when Chang’s CB radio started squawking.

Repeatedly, Bert called through the radio for Walter to pick up the receiver. Walter was no longer able to do so, but fortunately, he’d left the window by the radio open. It came in handy as Miguel and Jack carefully lowered John head-first down the outside of the building until he could reach in through the window.

“Got it!” he yelled, and clutched the device tight to his chest as the other two men hauled him back up.

He wobbled for a moment after he was set back on his feet, the blood that had rushed to his head draining. Miguel and Jack steadied him until he was reoriented, and then they followed him across the roof as he went to the side of the building facing the Gummer compound.

It took a couple of tries and changed frequencies, but John finally got a signal through to Bert.

“Bert! Can you hear me now?” John whispered.

_”John, that you? What’re you doing back so soon?”_

“It’s part of what I’m trying to tell you,” John replied. “We found out what’s killing people, and—oh, _shit_.”

“Oh, no,” Miguel whispered beside him. “They’re goin’ for Bert.”

On the roof, the three men watched as dust puffed across the valley floor with tremendous speed. The Graboids were charging toward the Gummer compound with frantic urgency.

“Bert, what did you and Heather just do?” John asked, his hand clenched knuckle-white around the CB mike. “What’d you just turn on? Over!”

_”The coating tumbler – why? John, dammit, you’re not making any—“_

“You gotta turn it off, Bert, you gotta shut it down _right now!_ ” John shouted. “The thing that’s been killing people – it hunts by sound and vibration, it’s under the ground, and it’s comin’ right at you guys _right now!_ ”

_”I don’t—“_

“Bert, for the love of Smith and Wesson, _listen to me!_ Shut it down, grab your CB and Heather, and get to the roof! We’ll talk more after you evac, but you gotta go _now!_ Over!”

There was a few moments’ wait, and then Bert came back on the mike.

_”We don’t see anything, John! Are you—? What the hell are you talking about? Over!”_

“Bert! They’re _under the ground!_ You hear me? They are _under_ the _ground!_ Big monsters that dig like a son of a bitch, _underground!_ Now get out – hurry!”

A few moments later, Bert’s horrified scream of _”Jesus Christ!”_ cut off in mid blaspheme.

John let out a low, horrid snarl as he tensed and shuddered, certain that a valuable asset (and friend, if reluctantly so) had been lost.

Jack and Miguel shared a resigned, unhappy look and they each put a hand on one of John’s shoulders.

And then the crack of rifle shots filled the valley air.

Five minutes passed as a continuous barrage of weapons fire spilled down from the low hills where Bert and Heather had made their home. After two tremendous _BOOMS_ , all noise stopped from the Gummer compound.

John shuddered and walked away; anxious, pacing.

Abruptly, Bert’s voice yowled over the CB: _”We killed it! You hear that? We killed that mother-humper!”_

Jack and John locked hands and pulled each other into a manly victory hug while Miguel slapped John’s back. Then, John grabbed hold of the CB mike and said, “Roger that, Bert, and congratulations. Be advised there two more – repeat: two more – mother-humpers.”

With that, he let the mike fall from his hand to dangle on its cord down the side of the building, put his head down between his folded arms, and laughed himself sick in a fit of relief while Jack rubbed his back.

Miguel grinned, snorted, and ran to the side of the building that the others were ranged along in their various hiding spots.

“Bert got one!” he shouted, throwing his fists up over his head. “He killed it!”

Melvin pumped his fist and screamed, “Way to go, dude!”

Nestor ripped his ball cap off of his head and flapped it, shouting happily, while Nancy hugged her daughter close and cried grateful tears.

On the water tower, Rodney slumped back against the wooden barrel and laughed as he cried, “Thank _God_ for rednecks!”

Jack laughed and patted John’s back and said, “Well, I guess we don’t get to make fun of Bert’s lifestyle anymore, huh?”

John snorted and elbowed Jack playfully, but then reached for the cord and pulled the mike back up. "Hey, Bert – you think you can get the last two?"

_"Yeah, I can try. Gimme a minute; me and Heather are gathering supplies and heading up to the roof."_

"Roger that. Hey, Bert?"

_"Yeah?"_

John licked his lips, took a deep breath, and said, "The fuckers got Walter. Came up through the floor... we tried, we all tried, man, but the damn thing was too strong, too fast. It... it happened fast. Not fast _enough_ , but fast."

They waited several moments for a response. Finally, Bert came back, his voice thick with emotion. _"Understood. Thanks for telling me. Radio silence, five minutes tops. Over and out."_

John hooked the mike back to the radio and scrubbed his hands over his face, sighing roughly.

"Well," Jack said, eyeing the Gummer compound in the distance with a critical eye, "I'll tell ya one thing: I almost feel sorry for those fucking things."

"How so?" John demanded to know, dropping his hands to glare at the older man. 

"Walter and Bert went way back. Walter was the witness at Bert and Heather's wedding, in fact."

John blinked, and then grinned wickedly. "I can't wait to see the shit-storm he's going to unleash on those fucking slugs."

Jack laughed. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if he hauled a Howitzer out of storage and rammed it down their gullets before hitting the firing switch."

Five minutes later precisely, Bert's voice crackled back over the CB. _"We're here! We're up on the roof. Any plans? Over."_

John snatched up the mike. "Bert? Good to hear you. See if you can't get a shot at the Graboids."

_"The **what** now?"_

"Graboids; it's what Walter named them."

_"Roger that. First one I see gets a lovetap from my elephant gun."_

"You have an—? No, actually, that doesn't surprise me."

Bert laughed, and then said, _"Hang on; here's one now. C'mon, little fishy – come to Papa!"_

John lifted his head and yelled to the others, "Fire in the hole!"

From the hills, the tremendous blast of the elephant gun firing rolled thunder down to the waiting townsfolk, followed by another. Jack and John shared a nervous look; somehow, they didn't think it would be that easy.

Sure enough, Bert was soon back on the radio. _"Sorry, guys – I never figured on having to shoot through dirt. Best damned bullet stop there ever was. Over."_

John sighed. "Yeah, Bert, copy that. We kinda figured, but we hoped, ya know?"

_"I hear ya, son."_

Jack took the mike from John. "Bert, listen. Can you and Heather get to your truck?"

_"Jack? Yeah, pretty sure we can. Why?”_

"You guys have the only vehicle remaining that can make it up the Jeep trail. You and Heather book it for the trail and let 'em know what's happening. If nobody believes you – hang on, got something to write with? I'm gonna give you an authentication code and a number to call; ask 'em to zoom in with a satellite. The one me and John dug up is still out there—"

"Hey! _Hey!_ "

Jack, John, and Miguel turned at Rodney's shout. They found him kneeling at the edge of the water tower platform and pointing vigorously down at the ground in the market's direction.

"It's up to something!" McKay bellowed.

"Hang tight, Bert," Jack ordered, and then dropped the mike as he and the other two men jogged over to the opposite side of the market roof.

There, beneath them, three Graboid tongues were poking up out of the sandy soil – actually, two whole tongues and a shredded third missing its head.

"Well, if it isn't our ol' pal Stumpy," John sneered.

"Bastard," Jack grumbled, and then spat down onto the shredded tongue.

Sharp hisses erupted from the other two, but they never stopped as they swarmed along the wall of the building. Their tiny mouths were open as they felt their way carefully along the wooden plank walls.

"Hey, Rodney! Whaddya think it's trying to do now?" John called over to McKay.

Rodney gave John a thoroughly unimpressed look. " _Why_ do you keep asking me?"

John grinned. "You're the earth scientist – they're in the earth – yeah?"

" _No_."

John's grin widened at the sour scowl Rodney gave him, but he quickly turned his attention back to the Graboid below as the snake-tongues withdrew into the ground.

Confused, the three men on the roof looked at each other and then over to Rodney, who had a worried look on his face.

"I don't like this," the scientist muttered. "Those things have proven they've got a sharp learning curve. It might be—"

Whatever theory he had, it was rendered moot as the right road-side corner of the market suddenly heaved up out of its sandy bed.

The others trapped atop their hiding places watched in horror as Chang's Market bucked and heaved, rocking violently up and down. As the walls caved and flexed against their joiners, the tar and strand board roof went from a flat surface to a rippling one. For Jack, John, and Miguel, it was like trying to walk on a Moon Bounce toy.

Fortunately, it didn't last long and the building once again stabilized as Stumpy stopped trying to shake the foundations apart.

"The hell is it up to?" Jack groused, looking at John.

John shrugged and shook his head. He had the horrible thought that Stumpy might be trying to do what was done to the Wallaces' station wagon, but that was absurd. Not even a thirty-foot slug could bury an entire _building_.

Muffled noise caught their attention and they hurried over to the CB radio that had, fortunately, fallen down onto the roof instead of the ground below. Jack picked up the device to hear Bert bellowing demands for orders.

"Hang on, Bert," Jack interrupted. "This thing's trying something new on us."

Before anyone could say anything, the Sterngood house began shaking and trembling.

Everyone hurried to the edges of their respective hiding places, anxious and desperate to help as Stumpy very deliberately dug a hole beneath Nancy and Mindy's house. Nancy clung to her roof with one hand while holding her frightened and sobbing daughter tight against her with the other.

Within moments, Stumpy ceased digging with a loud snort and sigh as it settled down to rest.

Miguel sighed. "They weren't making no noise. Why's he bothering them for?"

John curled his lip as he glared down at the tip of Stumpy's closed tri-hook beak. "It's... I think it's studying the buildings, trying to figure them out; trying to see if there's a weak spot it can use to collapse them out from under us. It can't... I don't know _which_ of them did it, but one more got Jim and Megan. It buried their station wagon _straight down_ , back to front. I don't think it can bury an entire house, or Walter’s market, but if it can pull a Jenga on us...."

"A what?"

"A Jenga! Remember that wooden block toy game? You had to build a tower out of the things and then pull out pieces and then build it up higher until it falls down by pulling the hidden weak spot."

Miguel nodded. "Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember that. Got my nephew one when he was a kid. He hated it; used the blocks to make forts for his action figures."

"Yeah, but you get my point."

Miguel hummed and nodded.

Rodney let out a whistle. They turned to face him.

"They can feel our vibrations, but they can't find us," he shouted. "The best they can do is study our perches and then figure out a way to topple them out from under us!"

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "that's what John just said!"

Rodney blinked, utterly surprised. "He did?"

"Surprise!" John teased. "The junkyard dog can think!"

"Well... yes, obviously," Rodney retorted, lifting his chin at an imperious tilt. "Anyone with a Master's degree in Aeronautical Engineering should be able to."

It was John's turn to blink. "How'd you—?"

Jack lifted his eyebrows and tried his best to look innocent when John turned to glare at him.

"Innocence looks ridiculous on you," John snarled.

Jack grinned.

" _No!_ "

The horrified shout caught their attention. Whirling around, they ran to the nearest wall and looked out over as Stumpy tunneled over to Nestor, who had cried out at the sight of the Graboid coming toward his antique single-wide trailer. The thing was from the 1960s; old-fashioned and outmoded.

It certainly wasn't big enough or heavy enough to withstand Stumpy's attack.

As everyone shouted, trying to offer advice or support, Nestor was knocked off his feet and clutched at the old TV antenna mounted to the side of his trailer as Stumpy began to push from the bottom.

Within moments, the trailer tipped over onto its side, spilling Nestor onto the dirt floor.

"Get up!" John screamed, slamming his fists on the wooden roof railing he stood against. "Nestor, get up, get moving! Get off the ground! Nestor! _Get off the ground!_ "

Nestor looked up at John's shouts. He heard the fear in the other man's voice and realized he was directly within reach of the monster. Wheezing, whimpering, Nestor scrambled up onto his hands and knees and crawled with all due haste to the nearest tall surface he could find – a tractor wheel.

He slumped over the discarded tire, arms and legs dangling over the edges, and sighed in relief as he draped an arm over his eyes.

"No!" John howled. "That's not high enough! Nestor! _Nestor!_ "

Even as Nestor started to push himself up, terror spiking fresh adrenaline into his system, it was too late.

His spine snapped in two as he was pulled down through the center of the tire, folding in half. His agonized screams vanished within moments even as Stumpy tunneled his way over to Melvin's little tin shack.

Melvin stared down in horror at the lumpy dirt trail Stumpy had left in the ground before diving deep under. He knew what that meant; Stumpy would be coming up through the floor, trying to take the tin shack down to the ground.

He began crying, honestly afraid and helpless; all of his bratty veneer stripped away as he begged for his life.

"No way – no _way!_ You... you gotta do somethin'!" he sobbed, tears scalding his cheeks as he looked up to where Jack, John, and Miguel stood watching him. "You guys gotta do somethin'!"

He was honestly afraid that nobody would bother to help him. He could see them, staring silently down at him in judgment and resignation. He knew he was a miserable jerk – hell, even his own parents didn't want him – but would they really just let him die without trying to help him?

"Melvin," Miguel said, "stay calm, okay? Try to stay calm. If that thing knocks you down, you jump as hard as you can for us, yeah? Jump as close to here as you can. We'll pull you up."

Melvin would have argued, but Jack and John nodded.

They _nodded_.

No hesitation, no nothing – they nodded, firm, strong, certain. If Stumpy made a play for him, they'd try to help.

Melvin sucked back his tears and nodded back at them.

John slapped his hand to Jack's back briefly and then went back over to the CB radio. Melvin needed to know that he wasn't being abandoned; Jack was good with kids, even snotmuffins like Melvin. He'd keep the kid calm. In the meantime, the Gummers needed a head's up.

Sighing, he clicked the radio and called, "Bert, Heather...?"

A few moments later, Heather came on the line. _"Yeah, Johnny, we read ya."_

"Listen: it's no use going for help. We'd all be dead long before you got back. Stumpy – the thing that grabbed our truck the first go 'round? It just – it just got Nestor."

Softly, she said, _"I'm real sorry to hear that, Johnny."_

"Yeah." John took a deep, bracing breath and let it out slowly. "This thing's diggin'—"

He was interrupted by the sound of the elephant gun going off again. Over the radio, John heard Heather yelling at Bert and Bert's faint reply of _"I think I scared 'im!"_

_"Go ahead, Johnny,"_ Heather said over the radio.

John sighed and shook his head. "This thing's diggin' the town out from under us. Best you could do is drive in and let people know what's going on, but it'd be too late."

_"Alright; we're with ya, Johnny. Tell us what you wanna do."_

"It's gonna have to be fast, and I'm not sure how, but we're all gonna have to get out of here together – _now_. You gotta come get us and we somehow have to keep the Graboids off your truck _and_ get all of us in your truck _and_ get to the mountains in one big hurry."

_"We'll figure somethin' out, John, don't you worry. We're gonna come get y'all – oh, no!"_

A few seconds later, the horrible screech and trill of a car alarm went off; beeping and blaring as the Graboid that was stalking the Gummers tore the GMC's tires apart and buried the vehicle up to the runner boards in the dirt and gravel.

Over the radio, Heather sighed and said, _"Y'all gonna have to forget about the truck, Johnny."_

"Yeah," John said, heartsick and furious. "Copy, Heather."

He let the mike fall from his hand as he turned to lean back against the wall, closing his eyes in defeat.

"Look," Rodney called, "the situation hasn't changed. We still have to make it to those mountains. There _has_ to be a way!"

John rolled his head to the side and gave Rodney a frustrated glare. "Like _what?_ " He pushed himself upright and turned to face the other man even as Jack and Miguel came to stand beside him. "There's nothin' left that can make it to those mountains!"

"John," Jack said, grabbing his arm, "Stumpy's gone under again."

John frowned and looked over his shoulder.

Jack shook his head. "It never touched Melvin. Maybe the kid's so rotten even Graboids don't want a piece of him!"

John snorted and grinned. He opened his mouth—

—and let out a shout instead of a sentence as Stumpy once again attacked Chang's Market.

The three of them clung to the roof walls as the floor beneath their feet bucked and sagged toward the center of the wide surface. Below them, one of the support poles for the wooden awning snapped and slipped free, toppling the awning to the ground.

"You guys!" Miguel hissed as the trembling stopped, "be quiet!"

Jack shook his head. "Doesn't matter now; they know we're here."

"If only there was a helicopter," John groused, pacing agitatedly. "If we had a helicopter, we could fly everyone out of here. We _need_ air support – or, failing that, a goddamn _tank!_ "

Jack nodded, and then blinked and looked at John in surprise. "That's not a half-bad idea!"

"No shit!"

Jack gave him a sour glare. "No, wise-ass! I _mean_ : the Cat!"

John gave his cousin a confused stare.

Jack rolled his eyes and clarified: "Could we use the Cat to get to the mountains? No tires for them to rip apart!"

John grimaced. "Yeah, but it's slower'n hell."

" _Yeah_ , but it weighs better than 30 tons! There's no _way_ they could lift 30 tons!"

"They don't have to _lift_ it—"

"But," Miguel said, interrupting John, "we can't all fit on the bulldozer."

The three of them were silent for a moment, and then John suggested, "It can haul extra space behind it, though; a car or something? Our truck?"

Jack smirked. "The old semitrailer in the junkyard that Nestor wanted us to get rid of anyway."

John winced. "The tires are all flat."

Jack turned and walked over to the roof wall facing the junkyard where the Cat and the trailer were parked. "Doesn't matter; the Cat can pull anything."

"Alright, then," John said with a grin. "We'll just roll on outta here!"

Jack held up his hand. "Sounds like we got a plan!"

John took his hand in a manly bro-clasp, the two of them smirking like fiends. However, as they stood at the edge of the roof, looking out at the quarter-mile of distance between them and the junkyard, he let his hand and smirk fall away.

"That's an awfully long walk," he said quietly.

"Hey!"

They turned and found Rodney standing close to the edge of his platform, one hand stretched back to rest on the barrel of the water tower.

"They respond to vibration, right?" McKay prompted. "So we 'vibrate'; make a lot of noise and distract them somehow!"

"Yeah, good – a decoy!" John said, nodding and pointing at him.

Jack snorted and looked around. "Hey, Melvin! Wanna make a buck?"

Melvin, having overheard the shouted conversation, lifted his middle finger high. "Eat it, you old fart!"

"How about the tractor?" Miguel offered. He went to the side of the building where a beat-up old riding lawn mower without blades sat, dusty and unused. "Walter's little tractor? Start him up; let him go out by himself. Let those things follow him all over if they like that noise!"

Jack and John nodded, in full agreement, but they hadn't a chance to say anything before Stumpy attacked the building so hard it knocked them all off their feet and detached the tar roof from one corner.

All three of them scrambled up to cling to the roof walls, hearts pounding in fear as they silently conferred with each other. Finally, John licked his lips, nodded, and said, "Ground's getting closer, Jack. I say we go with Miguel's plan."

"It's a good plan," Jack agreed. "I'm in – well, not in _love_ with it, but in _really extreme like_ with it."

"Prevaricator," John grumbled.

"Oh, listen to _you_ : five syllable words and all of a sudden, you sound like a grown man."

"You actually know what a syllable is?"

"Shut it, Sheppard," Jack groused, and swatted the back of John's head as he moved to where Miguel was already hoisting a leg over the roof wall.

John smirked, but followed him over.

Working together, the two men slowly lowered Miguel down onto the lawn tractor. Miguel moved quickly to tie his handkerchief to around the steering wheel and the starter knob, but got distracted when Nancy Sterngood's house was assaulted by Stumpy. Windows shattered, wood panels snapped, and most of her pottery that was on shelves toppled and splintered into shards. Nancy and Mindy sat atop their roof, now starting to sag inwards, and hugged each other tightly.

John looked at them and turned on his heel for the edge of the roof facing the junkyard. "I'm makin' the run for the Cat."

"Like hell you are," Jack snarled, hurrying after him.

"Oh, and your trick knees are suddenly not so tricky?" John snapped.

"Doesn't matter."

"Screw that. I'm faster than you and we both know it."

"But I'm best at driving the Cat!"

"I can still actually _make it_ to the Cat."

Jack yanked on John's arm, spinning him around to face him. "Dammit, Sheppard! Listen to me! I'm older and I'm wiser."

"You're half right," John sneered, and started to turn away again.

Jack yanked him back around and raised his fist with a challenging glare.

John groaned, frustrated, but he nevertheless raised his fist as well.

Three shakes later, John was showing scissors against Jack's rock.

"Damn!" John muttered, his tone of regret entirely false. "I lost. Guess I'll have to do it."

Jack hauled him aside. "Uh-uh, John-boy. _I_ won; _I_ pick who does it."

Jack took his place at the roof and cracked his finger joints, his wrists, and worked his way down to his knees, wincing as he did so. Nevertheless, he called over his shoulder, "Ready when you are, Miguel!"

At that, Miguel started the lawn tractor, put it in gear, and leaped onto the windowsill directly behind the thing as it took off. He twisted around, watching the little machine zip off over the sandy soil, its old engine chugging and rumbling loudly. He grinned when he saw Nancy's house stop shaking; heard her cry of "It's working! It's going after it!"

Up on the roof, John smirked at Jack and said, "Good luck, you old fart."

Jack glowered, but then grinned to hide his nervousness. "Don't worry about me, brat."

Grinning, John held his hand up for a manly bro-clasp. Jack's grin widened, he reached for it—

 

—and curled over his gut protectively when John faked him out to drive his sharp, pointy elbow into him, taking him out with one strike.

Immediately, John leaped over the side and down onto the wooden awning directly below. The awning collapsed under his weight and dropped him to the floor, where he lay dazed and groaning for a few moments before he got himself together. Staggering up onto his feet, he loped into a run, and then kicked it into high gear in a tear-ass sprint across open ground toward the bulldozer.

"Jesus God..." Jack wheezed, hauling himself slowly upright. "Does he... _sharpen_ his elbows? Dumbass... suicidal... son of a bitch!"

He braced himself on his palms, breathing through the pain of injured muscles, and watched John hurtle a half-collapsed sheet metal fence. He began to smile because it looked as if John just might make it.

And that's when the tractor rolled up against a sandy embankment and tipped over, it's engine cutting off immediately.

John, obviously having heard, skittered to a stop and turned to look.

Jack waved his arms violently and screamed, " _Keep going!_ "

Following orders, John turned and took off running again even as Jack ran to help Miguel up over the edge of the roof as the other man tried to climb back up.

The thudding of John's boots on the ground immediately snagged Stumpy's attention - and the attention of the Graboid that had been stalking the Gummer compound. Even as dust puffed fast up behind John, another set was coming toward him from the low hills.

"Oh, my God," Jack muttered, hurrying back over to where he'd been standing, Miguel now beside him. He hopped a little, his nerves getting the better of him. "Ohmigod, ohmigod...! They're gonna get him!"

Rodney, who'd been watching everything with his heart in his throat from the moment John had leaped into action, couldn't take it another moment.

"John," he bellowed, "stop! They're coming! _Don't move!_ "

John immediately slid to a halt – and just in time, as one Graboid emerged from the soil only a few feet in front of him and Stumpy emerged a few feet behind him. Snake-tongues extended to begin searching for him, but he held still; his special ops training serving him well.

Jack, up on the roof with Miguel, hissed a sigh of relief before muttering, "It worked! They can't find him."

True enough; in the distance, John stood still, but the Graboids' snake-tongues were wriggling closer and closer as they triangulated his last known location with the area they were in. The tongues were getting closer to John with every second. If they touched onto him, Jack knew without doubt that John would be ripped to pieces before what was left was dragged into the earth.

"Noise," he said, looking around. "Noise! We gotta make a lot of _noise!_ "

With that, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle before screaming, "Hey, you sorry sons of bitches! C'mere and get _my_ ass!"

Immediately, Miguel joined in. "Over here, you—" He switched to Spanish; his words blustering and rapid fire as he kicked at the wooden wall in front of him.

Nancy and Mindy stood up to begin stomping on their roof and yelling, while Melvin hurled swear words and stomped on the tin roof of his hiding spot.

Rodney, his eyes fixed on John, screamed out: " _Hey! I know you're not zombies, but I have the biggest, juiciest brain on the planet! Come get a piece of it!_ "

As the hullabaloo of noise filled the air, John carefully twisted to look over his shoulder. He wanted to smile at the sight of Rodney hopping up and down, but he was too frightened at the moment. As it was, he looked down just in time to see a snake-tongue about to touch his boot. Shifting his weight in a smooth roll of his hips, he lifted his right knee up as high as it would go. His right foot was now out of reach, despite the snake-tongue angling a bit upward. What would happen if the damn things found his left foot, well... he didn't want to think about that.

Rodney stopped hollering, seeing it wasn't doing any good. The others continued their efforts, but he could see – barely – John being forced to shift his weight to one foot to avoid a snake-tongue. The damned monsters weren't falling for the noise barrage. If something didn't happen in a few moments, John would be pulled down and torn apart to be devoured.

Rodney stomped his foot, frustrated and terrified out of his mind. Only... not quite. With the stomp of his foot, he heard a metal jangling and looked down to see the rusted metal pipe that fed the water from the barrel to the spigot below. Someone, long ago, had tied a rag around the joiner at the top; a makeshift fix-it that wasn't working all that well because water had soaked the rag and was drip-drip-dripping to the sand below. Tiny splats of water that barely made any impact... but larger water drops, a _torrent_ of them, absolutely _would_ make an impact.

Not stopping to consider the ramifications, Rodney scrambled down the ladder until he could reach the weak point of the pipe. Grunting with effort, he lashed out with his foot at the pipe. He could feel splinters digging into his hands and the pain of impact on the bottoms of his feet as he kicked and kicked, but he refused to stop. His plan was working! The pipe was giving way, giving way... gone!

Water gushed forth, hitting the ground in a hard pattern, and Rodney gasped for breath even as he twisted to look over his shoulder at where John – was running hell-bent toward the bulldozer.

"Hey!"

Rodney looked over to the general store and found Jack grinning at him, offering a thumbs-up.

"Goddamn good thinking, McKay!" Jack crowed.

"Of course it was!" Rodney shouted back. "It was _me!_ What _else_ would it be?"

He didn't have long to brag. Even as he was opening his mouth to say something against O'Neill's smirk, thrashing movement in the puddle below him caught his attention. Rodney watched in horror as snake-tongues swam through the water like eels. He flinched, gasping, and the movement immediately translated through the wooden ladder. The snake-tongues reared out of the water, hissing, and swarmed up the ladder after him.

Rodney scrambled upward even as the ladder rocked and wobbled violently. He whimpered, tears stinging his eyes. He was going to _die_ , he was going to—!

He hurled himself onto the tower platform an instant before the ladder was ripped down by the Graboid's snake-tongues. Rodney hit the platform on his knees, and then his belly, in a futile grab for the ladder. Groaning, he rolled upright and sat back against the water barrel, hoping they wouldn't dig the tower out from under him.

The roar of the bulldozer starting up caught his attention and the Graboid disappeared. Soon, dirt puffs signaled Graboids once again lurking around John, but he'd already chained the old trailer to the Cat and was in the driver's seat. Rodney closed his eyes in relief. The plans had worked; all their plans had worked.

There was a chance they'd survive long enough to get to the next crisis.

Within minutes, the roar of machinery approaching made Rodney open his eyes. He looked over the edge of the platform in wonder as John drove up to the tower, a cocky grin in place. Never in the history of ever (not counting Lord of the Rings) had pointy-eared smuggery looked so good.

John pulled the bulldozer beneath the tower and yanked on the lever to raise the bucket upward. He gestured and shouted, "Jump, Rodney! C'mon!"

Rodney looked at the three foot drop to a small landing area and shook his head. "No, I – I can't! I'll miss! I'll _fall!_ "

"Rodney! I know it's scary, buddy, but I need you to do this!" John coaxed. He gestured expansively, taking in the entire small town. " _They_ need you to do this. I'm not budging until you jump, McKay."

Rodney squawked, outraged. "How _dare_ you put that on me?! That is _not_ fair! I—"

"Dammit, Rodney!" John bellowed, scowling. "I'm _not leaving you_. Do you hear me? I'm _not!_ "

Rodney blinked. Swallowing hard, he looked around to the rest of the small group. Nancy and Mindy were crying for him to hurry up, Miguel was cussing him out in Spanish (and Rodney understood every word and he'd have _plenty_ to say to Miguel later) and Jack...? Jack was simply watching, his face somber, waiting to see which way Rodney's weather vane would point.

"Oh, God," Rodney whimpered, rolling his eyes up to the bright blue sky overhead. "Oh, God – I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I never won the Nobel for Physics and _I’m going to die_."

"No, you won't, Rodney," John responded. "I won't let you."

Rodney looked down, met his gaze, and realized that John actually _meant_ that.

Licking his lips, Rodney nodded. He took a deep breath, braced himself internally, and then jumped off the edge of the platform. He shrieked the entire three feet down into the bucket, but he landed squarely in it. With the momentum of unfurling from his landing crouch, he grabbed the upper edge of the shovel apparatus and heaved himself up far enough to hook a leg over the edge. He grunted at the discomfort, rolled himself over, and slid down to the main unit. He reached forward, took John's outstretched hand, and was yanked into the cab where he flopped on a small shelf beside the other man, gasping in relief.

"You okay?" John asked as he put the Cat in gear and began the drive forward to the General Store.

Rodney opened his eyes and sat up, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt before glaring at John. "You mean aside from the crippling fear of death and the bruises on my inner thighs? Oh, just _dandy_."

John's eyes dipped down and caught on the denim-covered expanse of Rodney's legs.

Rodney blinked, startled, and blinked again when John's gaze lifted to meet his and he saw the darkness of want in the green eyes. Then, with the tips of his pointy ears turning pink to match the flush on his cheekbones, John turned his attention to getting Jack and Miguel down from the roof of the store.

Rodney, for once, didn't say a word.

 

*~*~*

 

By the time the Cat and the trailer full of townsfolk pulled up to the Gummer place, Bert and Heather had gotten a few things done.

"I'll be damned," Bert exclaimed, a huge grin on his face; "armored transport! Damn fine thinking, fellas!"

"Mighty nice of you, but we don't have long!" John exclaimed. "Every time we stop, the damn things try to dig out from under us!"

Even as he spoke, Graboid snake-tongues speared out of the ground to try to clamp onto the bulldozer even as the ground began to buckle under the weight of the machine.

"You see?" John said, bracing himself atop the roof of the bulldozer cab as Jack put the thing into motion again, shaking off the snake-tongues. "These things are getting smarter by the minute! Get your asses in gear and get in here! We're headin' for the mountains!"

"If that's how we're doin' it, we're going _prepared!_ " Bert shot back, and turned away.

He utterly ignored the desperate howls from everyone as he began hurling bags of equipment and ammo to the others, Heather doing the same. Finally, he picked up two automatic rifles and turned to his wife.

"What do you think?" he asked, wanting her opinion.

Heather shouldered a duffel bag. "I'd go for penetration. The .458, shootin' solids...? Less ammo to carry."

Bert nodded and grinned at her, loving the way she smiled back. By God, but she was perfect for him!

"Bert, damn it, _come on!_ " John demanded. "We're only going nine miles!"

"And those things are gonna be on our ass every foot of the way!" Bert retorted. "They think they're so smart, huh? Me and Heather have a few new tricks to teach 'em."

With that, he handed down his .458 to Miguel and waited for Heather to leap down into the sand-filled trailer before following her down.

Once they were in, Jack put the Cat in motion, and the bulldozer and trailer trundled down the hill and headed out of town.

In the back of the trailer, Bert rested back against Heather, who had her arms wrapped around him comfortingly as they stared sadly at their home that was gradually getting smaller with distance.

"Food," Bert sighed, "for five years. A thousand gallons of gas, air filtration, _water_ filtration, Geiger counter, _bomb_ shelter...! Goddamn underground _monsters_."

Heather made a hurt noise and turned into his shoulder, seeking comfort of her own, and Bert patted the arm wrapped around his chest.

Theirs weren't the only regrets as the bulldozer and trailer drove slowly out of town and over the dirt floor of Perfection Valley. There was no reason to use the road since it didn't actually go near the mountains. The old Jeep Trail was a grown-over dirt trail that led away from the main road, and it was that which the bulldozer followed, getting closer and closer to the mountains. As they went, the Cat moved into Miguel's land, plowing through the barbed wire fencing that Jack and John had strung up only a few days earlier to keep Miguel's cattle fenced in. The cattle were gone, now; eaten by the Graboids, and Jack turned the bulldozer away from the nearby cliff with a mutter about wasted effort.

As they traveled, they all saw signs of Graboids nearby - dirt puffs and faintly heard hissing screams. Bert climbed out of the trailer and clambered up onto the roof of the Cat's cab, hauling his elephant gun with him. He took up position in the bucket of the Cat, braced and ready to fire if anything tried to come at them directly. Heather covered the back, ready to do the same.

The Cat moved parallel to the cliffs, coming up on the huge pile of boulders known as The Jungle Gym, and Bert called back as loud as he could: "Yo, there we go: solid rock!"

The people in the trailer cheered; hooted and hollered with glee and relief. In the cab, Jack, John and Rodney shared tired smiles. They were hopeful this would all be over soon.

“See any sign of ‘em?” Jack asked.

Everyone looked around, but nobody really saw anything – until a large plume of dirt erupted from nearly a quarter of a mile away.

“What’s that?” Heather asked, narrowing her eyes. She had a bad feeling about any Graboid activity.

“Dammit,” Jack grumbled, also watching the plume of dirt. “What the hell are they up to now?”

“I’m not borrowing trouble for now,” John responded. “I don’t care _what_ they’re doing – so long as they’re doing it way over there.”

“Far too simplistic an attitude against carnivorous sentient monsters,” Rodney stated, weary.

John grimaced. “I know, dude, but what else _can_ we do?”

“Nothing but wait and see, it seems.”

Only a few moments later, however, Bert screamed, "No, wait, _stop!_ "

It wasn't a quick enough warning. Even as Jack yanked at the controls, the Cat tipped forward and dropped down into the pit that had been placed in front of it.

The three in the cab lurched forward and damn near toppled out of the vehicle. Only their desperate grips kept Jack, John and Rodney from falling out of the bulldozer. Bert _did_ fall out, and even as Heather scrambled over the fallen people in the trailer to get to her husband, Bert was hauling ass back up onto the bulldozer himself. He scurried into the trailer, followed quickly by the other three men, and huddled in his wife's arms as he shook like a leaf.

"What is it?" Nancy cried, clutching Mindy against her. "What's happened?"

John shook his head; dazed, a little awed, a _lot_ frightened. "They dug a trap. The damn things dug a _trap_."

The trailer abruptly bucked upward, heaving and jolting with the strength of the Graboids that rammed up underneath the flattened and shredded tires. Melvin and Mindy both screamed and cried, and Nancy hugged them tight against her. Melvin wasn't hers, but he was a teenaged child in distress, and she couldn't ignore that even as tears streamed down her dusty face. Miguel huddled in against them and she met his gaze, grateful for his support as he kept his cool and tried to help comfort the kids.

Bert and Heather broke open their arsenal bags. Jack reached in and snagged an Uzi. He handed it back to John, who took it and then pushed Rodney to join Nancy and Miguel and the kids. Rodney scurried to sit with them, watching as John pulled the slide to chamber a round, and joined Jack who'd pulled out one of Bert's magnums. The two of them hung over one side of the trailer and began firing into the dirt, striking snake-tongues with accurate shots, while Bert and Heather hung over another side and launched their own assault on the Graboids.

The weapons fire was loud, and the small huddled knot of people covered their ears against the barrage of gunfire and Graboid screams. Then, realizing they were not making any headway, Bert pulled back to the arsenal bags and pulled out a pipe bomb - one of several he and Heather had made from a filtration pipe on the roof of their compound.

Stepping up beside John, who stopped firing, Bert grinned as he lit the fuse and sneered, "Hungry? Eat _this!_ " and flung the bomb to the ground a few feet away.

" _Hit the deck!_ " Jack roared, and moved to cover Nancy, Mindy, and Melvin.

Everyone curled face down into the sandy bottom of the trailer, John slithering across to cover Rodney, and they all covered their heads – just in time, too, as the bomb went off, sending a geyser of dirt into the air with a tremendous blast of noise that was overpowered by the shrill whine of Graboid screaming.

Realizing the Graboid attack had stopped, everyone scrambled up to peer over the edge of the trailer. They gasped for breath, dusting dirt out of their hair and off their clothes, out of their mouths.

Suddenly, Rodney pointed and cried out, "There they are!"

They all followed the line of his point to see dust trails moving at high velocity away from the trailer.

"Did you get one?" Melvin begged to know.

Bert shook his head. "I don't know!"

"No! There’re still two of them," Rodney countered. "Look! There's two different dust trails."

He was correct; the dust trails began to split away from each other, moving in a vee formation as the Graboids began to curve back toward the trailer.

"Sure as hell made 'em think twice, though," John mused. "What's in those bombs, Bert?"

"Standard grade materials," Bert replied. "Nothing that _should_ make 'em run like that – unless they've got the good sense to be scared."

"I don't think it scared them," Rodney denied, and they all looked at him. "I think it _hurt_ them. They're _sensitive_ to sound, yes? That blessing comes with a curse; a double-edged sword. What they use as a tracking point can be turned against them!"

"Oh, no!" Mindy cried, and they all flinched. "Look – they're coming back!"

Sure enough, the Graboids were tunneling straight toward them. Heather stepped up with her rifle and took aim. She fired, but the bullets had no impact on the monster worms. They kept coming.

John looked around, desperate, and spied The Jungle Gym several yards away.

"Hey!" he shouted, gathering the group's attention. "The Gym! We're gonna have to make a run for it!"

Jack shook his head. "It's a hell of a long way, Sheppard!"

"Yeah, man, they'll get us!" Melvin whined.

"They're sure as hell gonna get us if we stay here!" John argued.

Rodney reached out and caught hold of Bert's arm. Bert turned to look at him in surprise, as Rodney had never before tried to make contact with him; had barely even shook his hand when they'd been introduced days ago.

"Do you have any more of those bombs?" Rodney asked, his blue eyes intense as they looked at Bert.

Bert, seeing the thin-lipped scowl on John's face, held back a smirk. Instead, he nodded and said, "We gotcha covered, Rodney. A few household chemicals mixed in proper proportions – and plenty of 'em. Why?"

"What if we threw one that way," Rodney suggested, pointing at the pile of boulders, "the way we want to go? Then, when it explodes, the Graboids flee the area and that clears the way and _we_ run like goddamn bastards!"

As one, the small group went silent and looked at Rodney in amazement. They'd never heard him say a single cuss word before.

"Pardon my French?" Rodney joked weakly, offering an uncertain smile.

John threw back his head and _laughed_.

Rodney ducked his head to hide his grin.

"Ah, hell, he's got my vote!" Bert agreed. "It's the smartest and best option we got!"

At that moment, the Graboids attacked the trailer, rocking it violently.

"Alright, that's it!" John yelled. "We're makin' a run for the Gym!"

"No!" Melvin whined. "What if they don't fall for it? What if they don't run?!"

"Yo, Melvin!" Bert hollered, and suddenly, a shiny .38 magnum revolver was held in front of Melvin's face. "This'll make 'em think twice."

When they'd picked up the Gummers, Melvin had demanded a gun from Bert. Bert, knowing better than to give a panicky teenager a weapon, had refused him with a curt insult that had hurt Melvin's feelings. Now, though, a smile spread wide and wicked across Melvin's face as he took the gun. It was heavy in his hand; cold, but rapidly warming in his hand, and Melvin stood with a surge of confidence that nothing was going to get him with that beautiful gun in _his_ control.

"Everybody!" Bert called out, side-eyeing Melvin hard for a moment. "Get ready to run!"

They all huddled up against the side of the rocking trailer, all of them shouting agreement and encouragement to flee while the Graboids snorted and growled below them.

Bert lit the fuse and hurled the bomb as far out ahead of them as he could get it, in the direction of boulder pile. "Fire in the hole!"

They all crouched down and covered their heads; John covering Rodney, Jack covering Melvin, and Nancy and Miguel covering Mindy.

The explosion was loud, fierce, and once again coated them all in a spray of dirt even as the Graboids fled, screaming.

"There they go!" Rodney coughed, spitting dirt from his mouth. "It worked; they're running!"

"Alright, let's go!" John commanded, and they all scrambled over the side of the trailer.

The Gummers were the last ones out, hurling ammo boxes and snatching up their arsenal bags and rifles before fleeing.

Melvin was in the lead across open ground. He heard snarling and growling from several yards away and looked to see the Graboids making their turns, ready to charge back at the fleeing humans. He lifted his gun, took aim—click! Click, click, click!

"Aw, Bert, you son of a bitch!" Melvin howled. "You gave me an empty gun!"

Bert was too busy running to respond, but the grin on his face was mean with pleasure.

John was sweating and puffing as he ran, weighted down with the arsenal bag he'd taken from Heather and one of the ammo boxes, as well as the Uzi. Beside him, Rodney kept pace, also carrying an ammo box and gasping violently for breath. John, seeing him struggle, resolved that if they got out of this alive, he'd see to it that Rodney would take up running for his health instead of running for his life.

The small group was nearly to the boulder pile when Mindy tripped over sage brush and hit the ground with a hard thump. She screamed for her mother and Nancy slid to a halt, scrambling to haul her daughter up, when Jack pelted up to them. He handed his gun to Nancy, wrenched Mindy up against his side, and then grabbed hold of Nancy's arm and yanked her into motion as he ran hard for the rocks.

The kids were urged up onto the massive boulders first, followed by Nancy and Miguel. John shoved Rodney up onto the rocks and turned, only to find himself caught by Jack and hurled upward himself. He reached down and caught hold of Jack, pulling him up, and together they reached for the Gummers.

"Bert, come on!" Heather yelled, terrified. She stretched up her arms, refusing to relinquish her rifle even as she accepted help from the two men waiting for them. " _Bert!_ "

"I'm with ya, honey!" he shouted from behind her, carrying the second arsenal bag and his elephant gun. "Go, go, go!"

He could feel the ground shaking beneath his feet. He knew the monsters were there, _right there_ —

—he was hauled up onto the rocks even as a snake-tongue shot out. The nasty, slimy muscle glanced off the sole of his boot and smacked mouth first into the rock he'd climbed up on, flopping back with a hiss and a smear of slime.

The small group of survivors ran to the center of the boulder pile. It was called the Jungle Gym because its many formations gave multiple levels and angles for climbing on. Jutting towers of vertical boulders provided a semi-circle of shade for the weary humans as they collapsed into a pile, safe from the ravages of the Graboids.

Melvin, lying beside Bert, lifted his hand and thumped the revolver down into Bert's gut. Bert grunted at the impact, but yanked the gun out of Melvin's hand even as he turned his head to glare at the kid.

"You asshole!" Melvin complained bitterly. "There's no bullets in this gun!"

Bert smirked. "Yep. But it got you to move your worthless ass, didn't it?"

Melvin recoiled; turned onto his side and curled into a ball. Bert felt a little bit bad, but he knew Melvin's type. He knew how the kid was going to turn out if they survived this, and he wasn't going to waste any sentimentality on an opportunistic bottom-feeder.

Shrieking hisses made them all flinch. Those with weapons hauled themselves up and established a perimeter on the edge of the rocks, watching as snake-tongues climbed high and Graboids tunneled around the pile. The humans were safe, though, and they all relaxed and gathered into a group again.

"Alright, Campers," Jack piped up, his tone one of forced good cheer, "now what?"

"Could we make it to the mountains using Bert's explosives?" Rodney asked, weary, as he glanced up at John.

John shook his head even as he un-tucked his black shirt and pulled it open, letting his body heat escape. The black corduroy had been comfortable and cozy in the dawn cool yesterday morning, but now it was too warm in the broiling heat of early afternoon. 

"No," he groused. "We'd need _fifty_ of those bombs."

He looked to Jack for confirmation, and the older man sighed and nodded as he said, "That's it, then. We're not gettin' off this rock."

John smirked. "We're not gonna pole-vault our way outta this one – that's for damn sure."

Rodney gave a bitter laugh as he used his shirt to clean his face.

"Wait a minute," Heather interrupted. "What're y'all talkin' about? It's like you're givin' up or somethin'!"

"They'll just wait out there until we die of thirst," Rodney answered, sighing. "That's what they do."

Bert was suddenly beside them and he was _not happy_.

"Wait," he fumed, " _wait_. Are you...? No. For Chrissakes, you _can’t_ be sayin' this! We coulda made a stand at our place! We had food, water—"

"You can't fight 'em like that," Jack argued. "They can _wait_ , Bert. Do you get that? They can wait us out. We'd have run through your reserves and in the meantime, anyone they send to check on us would be killed and eaten, and then we'd have been _stuck_ at your place and died there!"

"So, what: you two screw-ups haul us way the hell out _here_ to die?!" Bert ranted. At their surprised expressions, he sneered and pointed a finger at Jack and John. "Ohhhhh, yeah; I know all about you two. I did a little digging! Major John Sheppard and Colonel Jack O'Neill – one nearly served disgraceful discharge papers and possible court martial for fucking up a mission and the noble cousin who couldn't take it anymore and followed the fuck-up into retirement!"

John lunged at Bert, but was caught and held back by Jack and, a moment later, by Rodney. Heather caught hold of Bert and tried to pull him back.

"You don't know _what the hell_ you're talking about!" John roared at Bert. "You have _no idea_ what was going on – you and your fucking survivalist pretend warrior _bullshit!_ You hide in your little hole in the ground and sneer at the real soldiers that go out to make sure you have the right to thumb your nose at us, and in the meantime—"

"In the meantime, you're getting kicked out because you can't keep your goddamn hands off other men!" Bert bellowed back at him. "I _told_ you I did some digging! I got told the _real_ story so you can stop _pretending_ that you're any kind of _good_ at rescuing people!"

It wasn't John's fist that socked Bert in the face, knocking him on his ass.

It was Rodney's.

Everyone froze as Rodney loomed over Bert, his hands curled into fists.

"You haven't done such a hot job of it, either," Rodney snarled at him. "John is just as human and fallible as any of the rest of us and if you think you _aren’t_ , Gummer, if you think you're _so much better and braver_ than the rest of us, then you get up on your feet _right now_ and you march out there, and you kill the monsters dead without any help from anyone."

"Why are _you_ defending him?" Bert demanded to know. "I've seen the way he looks at you—"

"But have you seen the way _I_ look at _him?_ " Rodney challenged.

Bert went silent.

"None of that has any bearing on what's going on now," Rodney spoke. "Your prowess as a warrior has been called into question. You think you can do better than any of the rest of us, get up _now_ , get _out_ there and save us all."

Bert looked away, resentful and silent.

"One of those things broke through your concrete wall in a handful of minutes," Rodney continued. "Two of them working together would have torn your place out from under us in half an hour – and _you know it_."

Bert stayed silent.

"Now, I suggest you put on your big boy panties and go sulk somewhere away from the highly trained military operatives before you give them any more incentive to kill you than you already have," Rodney commanded.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away to go sit on an elevated boulder, his back to the group. John followed him, not looking at Bert at all, but Jack smirked even as Heather pulled her husband up onto his feet and took him to the opposite side of the rock pile, soothing his stung ego.

"I know, I know," she crooned in response to Bert's angry mutters. "He thinks he knows everything."

"That's because I _do_ ," Rodney muttered from where he sat, picking at his cuticles.

"Sure seems that way sometimes," John agreed, stretching his long legs out and leaning back on his hands. He looked up at the sky, squinting against the brightness of the blue. "The way you look at me...?"

He rolled his head to the side to look at Rodney, who'd flushed pink and wouldn't look at him back.

"Yes, well," McKay mumbled. "You're – that is to say – you're very – oh, hells."

"Oh?" John answered, a smile curving his mouth. "I _am_ , am I?"

Rodney snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, his spine ramrod straight.

"So... shouldn't come as any surprise that _you_ are, too," John muttered, shifting to rub at the back of his neck in a sheepish manner.

"I'm – _what?_ Me, too?" Rodney blurted.

"Well, _yeah_. I mean... I _look_ at you. I know you've seen me do it. And when that thing had you wrapped in wire; you said you _knew_ …"

"Yes, but... adrenal response, dangerous situation, possibility of death—"

John rolled his right leg so his foot flopped over and tapped against Rodney's.

"Death doesn't do it for me," John opined. "I'm not a fuck-or-die kinda guy—"

"Oh, my God," Rodney muttered, and covered his face with his hands.

"—but _flying_... yeah; flying does it for me in a really big way. But I'm not flying right now, Rodney. Kinda landbound, ya know? So, yeah: you, too."

Rodney was silent for a few moments before he finally relaxed enough to look over at John and ask, "So... if we were to survive this... and I were to suggest we move on to bigger and better things outside of Perfection..."

"I'd ask if you'd let me be the one to fly us outta here," John answered, and smiled at the other man.

A heartbeat or two later, Rodney smiled shyly back.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Hours passed and the sun shifted past the vertical boulders, leaving the entire group baking in the heat of the sun with nowhere to escape to.

The group had shifted, too, with everyone except the Gummers lying together in a pile on one flat boulder. Bert had refused to join them because of John, Jack, and Rodney. Heather, being his wife, chose to sit by her husband rather than join the rest of them. If they were going to die, she didn't want to do it suffering Bert's sulking against her as well as them.

As the sun beat down on them, Bert shifted beside her and started rolling a pipe bomb between his hands.

"I know what I'm gonna do," he said on a sigh. "If it comes to starvation – or dehydration? I'm not going out that way. If it happens, I'm gonna walk right out there with the fuse lit and let 'em take me down."

Heather's heart thumped hard at the thought. She didn't want to die, didn't want Bert to die – didn't want to _watch_ him die. But she knew better than to try to talk him out of it. He'd always talked about wanting to go out in a blaze of glory. She didn't see the glory in this new plan, but neither would she try to take it away from him. He was a grown man. If he wanted to take one of the monsters with him as he died, then so be it.

"Jesus take the stick, Bert, you're a fucking genius!"

Everyone turned at Jack's exclamation. He'd stood up and was looking at Bert before he turned to look out over the sun-baked sand and soil.

"What are you babbling about now, O'Neill?" Bert inquired, his tone testy.

"It's not a bad idea," Jack said, and John's bitterly amused chuckle filled the air.

"No," Jack added, and kicked at John's foot. "It gives me an _idea_ ; going _fishing_ , if you get my drift!"

The others stared at him in confusion – but John, after a few moments, scrambled upright and took hold of his cousin's arm. "Holy _shit_ , Jack! That's the best damn idea I've heard all day!"

"What are you two idiots _talking_ about?" Bert demanded to know, also getting on his feet.

Jack grinned at him. "Got any rope in that bag o' tricks, Bert?"

Bert blinked – and then, blinked again as he began to realize O'Neill's plan.

"As I live and breathe, you son of a bitch," he whispered, "that is one damn _fine_ plan you've got."

"But _what’s_ the plan?" Miguel wanted to know.

By now, they were all on their feet, and Bert was rummaging through one of the arsenal bags to produce a 200-foot length of parachute cord.

" _Here’s_ the plan," Jack said. "We're gonna tie – Mindy, Melvin, start gathering up some rocks from the Gym, will ya? Heavy ones we can throw, like baseballs."

Mindy immediately started to gather up the rocks that had chipped free of the big boulders. Melvin crossed his arms over his chest with a sneer, but the sneer fell away as Nancy reached out to turn him around and shove him into motion.  
As the two kids worked, Jack said, "We're gonna use those rocks to lure the Graboids to a spot out there on the desert floor. Then, we're gonna take one of the bombs and tie an end of the rope around it and throw it out there. We'll drag it along the ground and the Graboid will think it's prey and go for it! It eats the bomb and _boom!_ Graboid go kablooey!"

"Holy mother of..." Miguel whispered, and then crossed himself. He smiled at Jack. "You the man with the plan, O'Neill!"

Nancy smiled, her eyes bright and happy with relief. "You really think it'll work?"

"I think there's a good chance. What else are we gonna do? Sit here and shrivel up like raisins?"

"It's got an eighty-five percent chance of success," Rodney piped up.

"Then let's do it," John agreed, and moved to help gather rocks.

Within a few minutes, a large pile of rocks had been gathered and John and Melvin took turns throwing rocks at an open patch of dirt. John would rather it have been Rodney helping him, but Rodney's throwing arm was not that great.

John accepted a rock from Mindy, who smiled at him like he was some kind of hero, and started to throw it, but stopped. He let Melvin's rock fly, and then reached to smack his arm and pointed. "Look, there's one – straight out in front."

Sure enough, the tell-tale motion of a Graboid signaled the arrival of one of the monsters at the patch they'd chosen for the assault.

"Alright, Melvin – let's see if we can keep it there," John said, and the two began throwing rocks again.

Behind them, Bert and Jack were working on the bombs.

"How much do you need?" Bert asked, holding a coil of fuse in his hands.

Jack shook his head. "I dunno – they're pretty quick; gonna need fifteen seconds, at least."

Bert nodded and tore off the appropriate amount of fuse rope and began tucking the small stub into the bomb cap with the hole drilled into it.

"The hell is that?" Jack asked.

"Cannon fuse," Bert grunted.

"The hell do you use it for?"

Bert turned to look at him. "My cannon."

Jack stared back at him, and then snorted a laugh.

_Of course_ Bert Gummer had a cannon.

Bert held the bomb steady as Jack tied the rope around it. Then, he packed up his supplies and retreated – but not before nodding at John and saying, "You guys watch yourselves."

John stared after him with raised eyebrows before he shoved Melvin to go join the others. Rodney caught hold of the kid and pulled him along, giving John an intense look before retreating to safety behind an elevated boulder pile.

Jack stepped up next to John and began to swing the bomb in slow arcs, building momentum.

John pointed at the dirt patch and said, "Okay, Jack, out there about thirty—" He broke off with a groan as he recognized Jack's stance and the swing of the rope. "You're not gonna do your lasso thing, are you?"

Jack gave him a cool glare. "Just 'cause _you’re_ no good with a rope doesn't mean you gotta piss all over _me_ , John-boy."

John grinned, but he didn't say anything else as he pulled the Zippo lighter from his pocket. Jack pulled the bomb to a halt and cradled it in his hands as John lit the fuse, and then snapped, "Get back!"

John didn't argue; he bolted for the nearest cover; tucked in alongside Rodney, covering him, as they watched Jack swing the bomb around in circles over his head before hurling it out onto the desert floor.

Jack's aim was perfect and he landed the bomb just a little past the dirt patch. He began hauling on the rope, pulling the bomb onto the loose soil. His heart was in his throat. What if the Graboid didn't take the bait? They'd never get another chance at this if the bomb went off before—

The rope was abruptly ripped out of his hands as a Graboid snout broke the surface and swallowed the bomb, taking the weapon beneath the dirt.

Jack let out a shout and rabbited back to hunker down beside John.

Everyone ducked and covered just in time, as the bomb exploded and the Graboid died in a shriek of surprise and pain.

The humans leaped upright, hopping around and cheering excitedly as they congratulated each other on their kill - interrupted briefly when Graboid guts rained down on them, splatting into the boulders and their bodies in warm, goopy gobs of flesh and slime.

They brushed off the icky stuff and went back to cheering, except for Melvin, who'd climbed way up high for a better view and had thus taken a face full of the stuff. He distastefully picked the slimy innards off himself and resolutely ignored any attempts to get him down from his perch. He was _beyond_ done with the bullshit antics of his elders.

So that left John and Rodney, finally, side-by-side with the rock throwing. Rodney started off rocky (and when John thought about it like that, he had to hastily muffle a snort of laughter), but he quickly caught onto the pattern and physics of throwing. Before long, he was doing as well as John and grinned at the approving gaze he was given.

They had time for it, though; the final Graboid was taking a very long time to respond to their taunting throws and their rock pile was dwindling. What they'd throw if they ran out of rocks, John didn't know, and hoped they wouldn't have to lose their shoes or attempt scavenging rocks from the base of the Jungle Gym.

"Where is the little creep?" John muttered, tossing a rock with a particular hard throw.

"'Little'?" Rodney replied. "A thirty-foot carnivorous worm and you call it 'little'?"

"Don't start, McKay."

"I'm just saying—"

"I know! Just... drop it, alright?" John bumped his shoulder against Rodney's to signal he wasn't truly angry with the other man. "Man, I hope he didn't wise up."

"No," Rodney explained, pointing to where snake-tongues had flailed up through the dirt to test the rocks. "There he is."

Jack stepped up beside them, the new bomb-and-rope combo at the ready. "Well, look who it is."

John peered harder at the snake-tongues and realized that there were two whole tongues and one shredded one.

_Stumpy_.

John let out a furious sound and snatched the bomb and rope from Jack's hands. "Gimme that thing! This son of a ratfuck is _mine_."

Jack raised his eyebrows, but didn't argue. He knew how much John had liked their truck. Hell, _Jack_ had liked their truck. Ol' Puddlejumper had served them long and well.

So he stepped back and let Rodney light the fuse for John and then pulled the younger man to safety as John swung-swung-swung the bomb and let it fly.

As soon as the rope was ripped from John's hands, he whirled to go join his friends. He stumbled across a stray bomb that hadn't been cleaned up, so he scooped it up and tucked it under his arm as he leaped into the hiding spot with a shout of "Get down!"

Everyone hunkered down, waiting....

And that's when Stumpy spit the bomb right back at them.

It launched high, arcing up and then coming down _directly_ toward the cowering group of humans.

"Oh, _shit!_ " John yelled. "Clear out! _Clear out!_ "

They all started to scramble away – and then, scrambled even _faster_ when the lit bomb dropped onto the arsenal bag where the _other_ bombs lay piled.

The explosion as terrible and vicious; knocking them all off their feet. What was worse, though, was that when the dust cleared, the people on the rocks discovered that Jack, John and Rodney had retreated to the desert floor for safety and were several yards out from the boulder pile.

"What're you doing out there?!" Bert yelled, and ran for a vantage point to shoot from as the three men scrambled upright and ran for the rocks.

They didn't make it.

With a roar, Stumpy burst up out of the dirt directly in front of John, who scrambled to a halt. Jack ended up beside him and Rodney was a few feet to the left of Jack.

The humongous worm slumped forward, snorting and growling. It _knew_ its prey was there. The prey had stopped moving but it hadn't gone anywhere else. It _knew_ they were there and they knew it knew. The instant any of them moved, they would be killed. Jack reached out a cautious hand, holding it over John's shoulder. John had impulse control problems – it was a family thing – but if any of them was gonna go, then Jack would make sure it was him so John could get himself and Rodney to safety.

The rest of the group began whistling and hollering and stomping, trying to distract Stumpy away from the three men out on the sandy soil. Bert fired several rounds from a pistol and, finally, leaped off the rocks. He struck the ground repeatedly with the butt of his elephant gun, screaming "Fresh meat!"

Sure, he'd fought with the three endangered men, but he didn't want them to _die_ ; not so horribly, not like that, not when he could _help_.

Stumpy slowly retreated into the ground, finally disappearing from view with a snort that dusted dirt over the hole in the ground.

Seeing the creature disappear, Bert scrambled back up onto the rocks.

Jack looked from John to the hole in the ground to John, nodded once, and started to take a step. John's hand lashed out and clamped down onto his arm, preventing him from moving. Rodney, seeing this, refused to take a step himself.

"Wait," John whispered. He frowned, and then winced. A piece of rock had hit him over his left eye and now the cut was slowly drying, puckering the wound and making it tight and painful.

"Why?" Jack whispered back.

"This one's not falling for it," John replied, curling his lip at the hole where the Graboid lurked. "This one's not _dumb_. He's trying to trick us.”

Jack snorted, and then did a double-take when he realized John had carried the pipe bomb he'd picked up out onto the open floor. They'd both taken Mother Maybelle and Homer off their persons before the idea to go Graboid Fishing had hit. But they weren't entirely defenseless; they had a weapon! One, certainly, but they HAD one!

"Use your bomb!" Jack whispered, gesturing at the device.

"It's our _last one_ ," John hissed back.

"So? What _else_ ya gonna use it for – boulder carving?"

John shook his head. He looked to the rock pile, where the others were waiting anxiously for them. "So what if we make it to the rocks? We'd be dead in three days, anyway!"

"Yeah? I wanna _live_ for those three days!" Jack whispered furiously. "You know as well as I do that we all want every last second. Give us those seconds, John!"

Bert interrupted, calling out, "What the hell are you waiting for? You got a bomb – use it! C'mon!"

The others chimed in, agreeing. Miguel's voice rang out loud: "Use that bomb, man! Scare 'em away and run to us!"

John shook his head, ignoring their entreaties, and then craned to look around Jack at Rodney. The scientist was frightened and he looked at John with hope and fear as he mouthed, "Throw the bomb!"

John turned his gaze away to the hole where Stumpy hid. Hard to believe that only a few days ago, he hadn't known who Rodney McKay was – and now, it hurt like mad to think of Rodney slowly dying from dehydration or by a mercy bullet from Maybelle. Hard to believe that only a few days ago, he and Jack had been out here all alone with only Miguel's cows for company, unaware of the monsters roaming beneath the valley floor. It had been just him and Jack, laughing, joking about—

_Oh_.

Oh.

_Yeah_.

John tightened his grip on the bomb as he glared at Stumpy's hidey-hole. "This bastard isn't smarter than us."

Jack didn't understand what, precisely, John meant. He only knew he recognized that look on the kid's face. "Johnny – for Chrissake, John, _don’t!_ "

"I'm gonna go for it," John replied.

"Go for—? John, _no_."

John didn't listen. Instead, he turned on his booted heel and sprinted past Jack.

Instantly, Stumpy reared up out of the ground with a roar, frightening Jack into a yell and a run of his own.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jack bellowed as he caught up with his cousin.

" _I got a goddamn plan!_ " John screamed back as he bolted past Rodney.

Stumpy roared again and dove down into the ground to give chase.

Seeing this, Rodney began running after them. There was a greater risk of being caught as the separated-from-the-herd runner if he tried to go off on his own. Also, John had a plan – and that was good enough for Rodney.

Ahead of him, he could see Jack and John furiously patting their pockets as they ran, with Jack shouting, "Where the hell is it?"

Rodney understood instantly. He dug his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out the Zippo. " _I've got it!_ "

Jack twisted to reach back for him, still running. "C'mon, McKay! Put on some speed!"

"This is pretty much my top gear!"

"Come on!" John shouted, and led them to the cliffs.

They skittered to a halt at the edge of the cliff; all three looked in horror at the eighty foot drop to the ground far below. They whirled to see dirt spraying in all directions as Stumpy tunneled toward them at top speed.

"This better be one hell of a great plan!" Jack snapped.

John twisted the fuse and snapped it shorter to the bomb cap, reducing the burn time. "Get ready!"

Rodney brought up the lighter and flicked it open. Jack nodded at him, his heart pounding as he realized John's plan and hoped like hell they could pull this off.

John held Rodney off, though. "Not yet, Rodney! Not yet!"

"C'mon, what are you waiting for?" Rodney snapped, trying to light the fuse.

John clamped his hand around Rodney's fingers and the lighter, holding the other man in place as he watched Stumpy's advance. Finally, he said, "Okay – light it!" and let go of Rodney.

Rodney flicked the lighter on, setting the fuse to sparking, and then cringed aside to give John room to throw the bomb, which he did.

A moment later, Rodney howled, "No! Too far – you threw it behind him!"

"Never mind that," Jack yelled back. "Just get ready to jump!"

Rodney stared, wide-eyed and terrified, at the edge of the cliff.

"No, not that way – to the side!" John snapped, and put his hand against Rodney's shoulder, ready to shove.

The bomb went off and Stumpy, screaming in shock and pain, hurtled forward even faster in an effort to get away from the pain of the explosion.

Jack sprinted off to the left. John shoved Rodney and the scientist stumbled into a run to the right.

John remained where he was, stomping his feet, giving Stumpy a fixation point.

At the very last second, John leaped as hard as could to hurl himself over the speeding monster.

Stumpy broke through the cliff wall and hurtled out into open air. The giant worm fell, tri-hook beak open, screaming in terror as it realized it was helpless against what was coming.

John scrambled on hands and knees to the cliff's edge, watching his nemesis plummet downward, and screamed, " _Can you fly, you fucker?! Can you fly?!_ "

Stumpy could not.

When the Graboid hit the pile of broken rocks at the bottom of the cliff, it burst apart like a water balloon; one filled with neon orange liquid. It split from mouth to tail tip, its innards gushing and oozing over the rocks to the sandy floor in a small river of gore.

Stumpy died on impact – which was kinder than the end of any of its meals.

John slowly got to his feet, not wanting to take a header over the side to join Stumpy due to relief-wobbly knees. Jack and Rodney shambled up beside him, almost wilting with the joy of knowing that the four Graboids were finally dead.  
John looked from one to the other. He had the urge to haul Rodney in for a great big kiss, but he was afraid he might just knock them off the cliff if he tried. So, instead, he focused on his cousin and said, "Well, it just... hit me. Y'know... stampede."

Jack started laughing. He'd figured that's what the kid was up to and he was glad he'd been right – and even gladder that the plan had worked.

As cheers and whistles erupted from the group on the Jungle Gym, the three of them turned to begin trudging back to their friends and fellow survivors. They were bone-weary; tired and beat up and bruised, but they had _won_.

 

*~*~*~*

 

A couple of weeks later, the tiny town of Perfection was bustling with more activity than it had seen in _years_. Tourists of all kinds were nosing around to see the damage done by the monsters that been reported by the survivors; federal officials were all over the place; _scientists_ were snooping into _everything_. All of this was happening because the survivors of the Graboid invasion had hiked the Jeep Trail into Bixby; there having been no water or food to keep some of them alive while others made the walk in to report the goings on. At first, they’d been accused of creating a hoax and murdering people, but the evidence of destruction and Graboid bodies had proven the survivors to be innocent.

From the intact Graboid bodies, parts of Walter and Nestor had been recovered and would be laid to rest soon after the autopsies and studies were completed. Of Old Fred, the Wallaces’, and everyone else that had been eaten prior to the escape attempt and battle, there was no sign.

Jack and John fully planned to come back for the funerals, but they were still getting the hell out of Perfection. They’d been ready to leave weeks ago and they were even more ready to go back to “civilization” now after having battled vicious underground monsters. They weren’t sure _where_ they would go, but they knew they were going.

And John…? He’d made good on his promise to himself: he’d called his father. More accurately, he’d called his father’s office and he’d sort of chickened out again. Instead of asking to speak directly to Patrick, John had left a message with the man’s secretary: “Hey, it’s me. Whatever you might hear on the news about a place called Perfection, just… I’m okay. Jack, too. We’re okay. I’m okay.”

He’d left it at that; a childish fear in his grown-man heart that Daddy really didn’t love him, but at least he’d made the attempt to communicate, half-assed though it was.

Bert had the radial tires necessary for Ol’ Puddlejumper in his vehicle bay (simply calling it a ‘garage’ was not doing the massive underground vehicle bunker justice), and he gave them to Jack and John without hesitation. He even lent them space in his vehicle bay to fix the damage done to the chassis by the Graboid that had attacked John.

Now, weeks later, they were clean and well-rested and ready to hit the road. The only thing left was to put the tires on and roll on out.

Before they could even get started, though, a black town car rolled down the street and came to a halt near them.

“Shit,” John muttered, watching his father and brother get out of the car. They were dressed in casual attire – which, for them, translated to polo shirts and dress slacks and highly shined shoes that were quickly coated in dust.

“Easy, John-boy,” Jack cautioned. “Don’t let ‘em railroad you.”

“But—“

“Be honest with ‘em. Tell ‘em what you want, how you feel, and go from there. You know I’ve got your six.”

John grinned at his cousin before turning his attention to his immediate family.

“Dad,” he said, holding out his hand for a shake. “I didn’t—“

To his shock, Patrick Sheppard caught hold of his arm and yanked him in tight for a hug. John stared over his father’s shoulder at his brother. David looked back at him, his face stark with worry.

“Thought I’d lost you,” Patrick groaned in John’s ear. His arms were wrapped so tight around John’s ribs, the younger man feared for their safety. “Got your message and then the news – your name – _monsters_ …! You almost _died_ , Johnny, and I can’t…”

“Dad,” John whispered, and buried his face in his father’s shoulder.

David made a noise and cuddled up to his father and brother, welcomed immediately into the hug.

Jack, watching them, blinked against gathering moisture in his eyes and politely turned his gaze away.

Eventually, Patrick loosened his hug and the Sheppard brothers eased away from each other and their father. Patrick offered his sons a sheepish smile.

“So I get sentimental when I find out my boys’ lives are in danger,” the older man groused. He sighed. “Johnny… Johnny, I’m sorry for everything I said. I was before all of this, but when I found out how close I came to having never had the chance to _say_ that… no father ever considers his children might go before him. I thought I had time to get over my harsh words, my pride, and tell you how much I love you and I’m proud of you.” He flicked his gaze over his sons. “Both of you; I love you both so very much.”

John and David both reached out to take hold of one of their father’s shoulders.

“It’s… I mean…” John shook his head. “What we said to each other, how we left things, was not okay. But I’m real glad to know you don’t hate me.”

“I couldn’t,” Patrick replied. “Johnny, I _couldn’t_. You’ve challenged me and refused me and done your own thing all your life, but I never hated you for it. I never hated my sons, neither one of you. Boys…”

John swallowed hard and smiled. It was a small one, and kind of sickly with relief and tender emotions he didn’t really want to be sharing, but it was there.

“So you’ll come back, right?” David asked his brother. “Now that you’re safe, now that this is over… you’ll come back?” He looked past John. “Jack, too?”

Jack, hearing his name, turned to look at them with raised eyebrows.

“You know there’s a place in Sheppard Industries for both of you, yes?” Patrick added.

John stared at his father for a few moments. Then, a few feet away, Rodney stepped into view behind Patrick. He was holding a camera that he’d been using to document the damage and the remains, building on his own after action reports and scientific papers that he was creating from the catastrophe they’d all endured. McKay stood quietly, his crooked mouth downturned as he waited to see what choice John would make.

“Dad,” John said, and squeezed his father’s shoulder. “Dad, I love you. Okay? I always have and I always will.”

Patrick frowned. “That doesn’t sound like ‘yes’, Johnny.”

“Because it doesn’t _mean_ ‘yes’. Dad, I don’t want to work for Sheppard Industries. I don’t want a desk job, I don’t want to be stuffed into a suit and tie and sit through never-ending board meetings. I have a plan for my life that I’m still drafting, but the one thing I know, without doubt, is that I want you and Dave in it.”

“John, be reasonable!” David protested. “We’re a family and Sheppard Industries is a family-owned company!”

“Yes and yes,” John agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to do what I want in life. I’m not a utilities kinda guy, Dave. Flying is my passion, you _know_ that, and I don’t deserve to be forced to throw that away.”

“You wouldn’t have to! You could get your own plane – several planes! You could go flying occasionally—“

“Yeah?” John challenged, letting go of his father and turning to face his brother. “ _When?_ I remember that you liked to build and drive remote control car kits. How often do you do that anymore?”

Dave grimaced. “That was little kid stuff, John.”

“Don’t hand me that! They make those kits for adults, too, and _you know it_. You could build your own remote control Mercedes-Benz, if you wanted, and drive it around. A hobby is a hobby; a like is a like and a preference is a preference. You like what you like – but do you ever get to do it or is everything, all of you, every bit of your life given over to Sheppard Industries?”

“No—“

“Yes,” Patrick interrupted, and the brothers turned to look at their father, who looked more tired than they could ever remember. “David… it’s true. I’ve been worried about you for a while, now.”

“Dad, no—“

“ _I_ see your children more than you do, it seems,” Patrick cut short. “And Jillian seems to be taking more and more trips while you remain in your office, working away.”

“Things need to be done—“

“Yes, they do, David. But if I’ve learned anything, recently, it’s that the work will always be there.” Patrick glanced at John. “Your family can be taken from you at a moment’s notice and you might never get the chance to get them back.”

John stared at his father, his heart beating hard. Did that mean…?

“Johnny, you’ll always be welcome in our home,” Patrick stated to his eldest son. “I want you to know that. You’re welcome, no matter what you choose to do, and I’m behind you one-hundred percent in whatever it is you want to do. Just… just don’t walk out on your brother, alright?”

“I didn’t want to in the first place,” John croaked.

Patrick winced. “I know. I’m sorry. I made David choose and that was – boys, I’m so _sorry_.”

Responding to the pain in his voice, the Sheppard brothers moved in for another hug with their father.

When the hug-fest had finished, Jack came up and clapped John on the back as he said, “Proud o’ ya, John-boy.”

“Jack,” Patrick said, and offered his hand for a shake. “Good to see you.”

“Oh, I bet it is,” Jack retorted with a grin. Still, he shook Patrick’s hand. “Davey, nice to see ya, kid.”

“Not a kid, Jack,” David responded, shaking Jack’s hand as well.

“You are to me,” Jack stated, and ruffled his own salt-and-pepper hair pointedly.

“Yes, well,” Patrick remarked, “thanks for taking care of John.”

“He took care of himself,” Jack explained. “I was just there to watch his back. John’s a good egg, Patrick, even if he’s scrambled a little different than most.”

Patrick grimaced at the reminder of John’s preferences. “Yes, I’m… aware of that. I don’t – you know what? I meant it when I said that John is always welcome in the family. I’m not taking that back, ever, not for any reason. My children being safe and sound and alive… that matters more to me than anything.”

“Well, alright then,” Jack said, and grinned at John.

Rodney chose that moment to walk up to them. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, things are fine, Rodney,” John replied with a small smile. “Rodney, this is my dad, Patrick Sheppard, and my brother, David. Dad, Dave, this is Doctor Rodney McKay, physicist and almost seismologist.”

Handshakes all around, though Rodney didn’t look all that thrilled to see them. He wasn’t, actually; during the walk into Bixby, they’d talked about their families, and John had confessed that he’d been disowned by his father for not wanting to be part of the company as well as being bisexual with a preference for men. Rodney, having confessed that he’d insulted and offended his sister to the point she didn’t want to speak to him, had felt bad for John. He knew that once he contacted Jeannie and told her what had happened, she’d be worried about him. He never doubted that his sister cared about him. He’d hurt for John that the other man didn’t have that reassurance.

Now, having seen the reuniting of the Sheppard family, he was inclined to withhold his opinion until he’d seen Patrick and David prove themselves – providing he got that chance.

Turning to Jack and John, he held up the camera. “Smile!”

Jack slung his arm around John’s shoulders even as John shifted to lean against Ol’Puddlejumper’s side, taking the opportunity to knock John’s new black rodeo hat off his head. John righted the hat with a sour glare at his cousin while David and Patrick moved to stand on either side of the two.

Rodney snapped his fingers several times and then pointed at the two Sheppards as he said, “Not you two. You weren’t here for this mess!”

Insulted, Patrick and David stiffly walked out of view of the camera.

John snorted as he and Jack grinned at Rodney, who merely smirked back before taking their picture. Once done, he began walking up to John – who oh-so-casually stepped back toward Ol’ Puddlejumper’s driver-side door. He reached through the window, flipped the visor down, and ripped down the pictures of Tammy Lynn Baxter that had been taped there for a couple of years. He crumpled them and threw them to the foot well on the passenger side of the truck and then tried to assume a casual stance as Rodney came to a stop before him.

Rodney ignored John’s odd behavior and lifted the camera. “Bert loaned me his camera.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, and kicked the tires still leaning up against Ol’ Puddlejumper’s side. “He gave us these tires, too.”

Rodney nodded and then looked at John. John glanced to where his father and brother stood waiting and watching. He could practically _feel_ Jack’s nosy interest.

“Wanna get a beer with me?” John offered to Rodney, nodding toward Chang’s Market. The power had stayed running while they’d been gone and the beer was still good and cold.

“Still no Molson?” Rodney asked rhetorically, a whimsical smile on his face.

“Yeah, sorry, buddy.”

Rodney sighed dramatically. “Well, if I must drink American swill…”

“Watch it.”

John grinned when Rodney laughed, and he stepped into place beside the other man as they ambled over to Chang’s Market, pushing through a group of tourists.

Inside, they pulled beers from the refrigerator and then made their way outside to lurk under a hastily propped up awning.

“There’s going to be major research,” Rodney said after a few moments, “and I’m going to be in on it.”

“Adding biology to your list of scientific accomplishments?” John asked, smirking.

“Hardly,” Rodney disparaged. “I’ll be working from the mathematics and probabilities angle. I leave the soft so-called sciences to those that aren’t as gifted as I am.”

“You are an absolute font of generosity, McKay.”

“Mmmm, yes, aren’t I just?” Rodney agreed. He took a drink of beer. “What about you?”

“I figure it’s time I got serious about what I want out of life. I know I want to design planes. I know I can get a job at any kind of company like Lockheed Martin or something just on my Master’s, but I want my doctorate in Aeronautical Engineering. I want to take it that far. So, I figured on heading back to California; get a place of my own and start taking classes at UCLA or, you know, USC.”

“University of Southern California is your better option,” Rodney opined. “I know a few people there; I did one of my Master’s there when I was… what? Twenty? Something like that. I can write a recommendation letter for you to add to your application packet, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” John replied, his voice quiet. “That’s… really nice of you, Rodney.”

Rodney nodded. “So! Thanks for, you know, saving my life and all. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”

John frowned. “No, I’m sure—“

“John, I’m certain this is a surprise to you,” Rodney interrupted, “but I’m a rather abrasive man; rude, opinionated, and generally socially disagreeable.”

“ _You?_ No way; hadn’t noticed,” John teased.

“Yes, well,” Rodney acknowledged, stiff with wariness, “I haven’t been… as gracious as others would appreciate or desire. There have been a few enemies made. I didn’t expect anyone would work so hard to keep me alive as you have.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

Rodney looked at him for a few moments, waiting… and then, sighed, and nodded.

“So, thank you,” he mumbled. “I hope we never have to do this again.”

“ _What?_ ” John asked, his eyebrows flying high.

“Being in danger!” Rodney clarified. “Having to perform acrobatic feats and outthink subterranean _monsters_ … that kind of thing!”

“Oh! Oh, yeah… right.”

They finished their beers in silence, and then chucked the emptied cans into a nearby garbage bin that had been set up for the large crowds gathering in town.

“Well… see you, I guess,” Rodney remarked.

“I… um.” John winced. “If you’re sure.”

With a small, pained smile and a dejected slump of his shoulders, Rodney began walking away toward his red pickup truck.

John watched him go, his heart hammering. He _wanted_ Rodney; wanted to call him back, wanted to run to him, but his life was a _mess_ that he had to get righted around before he could offer the best of himself.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jack said as he joined his cousin, “but didn’t you offer to fly that guy outta here?”

John glared at the other man. “You listened in?”

“The whole damn bunch of us listened in, Cowboy. Rock _reflects_ , remember? Sunlight, _sound_ … and we were all cuddled up together. Nancy thought it was very romantic.”

John snorted and didn’t answer.

“John, you are making the biggest mistake of your life if you let him get away,” Jack advised. “If you don’t speak up now, you are going to have to hold your peace _forever_.”

“How do you know?” John retorted.

Jack turned to look at him, his expression somber. “I just know.”

John stared at his cousin for a few moments. Then, without another word to Jack, he turned and loped after Rodney. He ignored the hails from his father and brother as he hurried on catching up to the snarky, brilliant, hot scientist that drove him nuts with everything about him.

“What am I doing?” John muttered to himself as he trotted toward McKay. “What in hell is he gonna want with me? I failed at being a Sheppard, I failed at being an Airman, I don’t have a doctorate and he’s got _three_ fucking PhDs!’

Still, it didn’t stop him for running the last few steps to Rodney before the other man could get to his truck.

Rodney turned, obviously having heard his boots thudding on the sand-covered blacktop, and pleasure brightened his blue eyes and lifted his face. “John…?”

“Rodney,” John answered, reaching out to touch his arm. “I just… I wanted to…”

“Yes?” McKay urged, hope showing unabashedly on his face as he stepped closer to the other man.

John opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. He tried, but still nothing, and he watched as the hope began to fade from Rodney’s face. John couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand being the reason that Rodney gave up.

With an irritable flick of his head, he cast aside his doubts, and pulled Rodney into a kiss.

Rodney groaned, appreciative and relieved, and melted in the kiss. He hooked the camera’s safety strap over his left wrist so he could leave his hands free, and then flattened those hands against John’s back to pull the taller man close against him. He smiled at John’s muffled laugh and opened his mouth, inviting John in; invited him to take anything and everything.

The kiss deepened and stayed deep for several minutes as John and Rodney learned the taste and texture of each other’s mouths. Eventually, the kiss lightened until they could stand to let their lips part, and they leaned back to grin at each other.

“Hey,” John remarked, “if I recall correctly, I promised to fly you outta here.”

“I was wondering if you’d remember,” Rodney replied.

“I remembered. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to be your pilot.”

“Please; as if I’d accept anyone else.”

They grinned at each other, big and bright, and made plans to fly.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that Stampede owns Tremors and MGM owns the Stargate Franchise. No money is made off of this fanwork.


End file.
